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Professor of English in Brown University 


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Hamlet 
Henry V 
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SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 


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®t)c ^afec Cnglisf) Classics 

REVISED EDITION WITH HELPS TO STUDY 


TOM BROWN’S 

SCHOOL DAYS 

« 

BY 

AN OLD BOY 

"As on me one hand it should ever he remembered 
that we are boys, and boys at school, so on the other 
hand we must bear in mind that we form a complete 
social body ... a society, in which, by the nature 
of the case, we must not only learn, but act and live; 
and act and live not only as boys but as boys who will 
be men.” — Rugby Magazine. 



EDITED F01{ Si'HOOl, UHE 

BY 

A. 1^ do MILLE 

MASTER IN ENGLISH, MU TON .(ADIYMV. M I I.TON, MASSACHUSETTS 

s 

» » 5 

0 > 

> » > 

— 


SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 
CHICAGO NEW YORK 






Copyright 1914, 1920 
By Scott, Foresman and Company 


MAY -6 1920 


i 


ROBERT O. LAW COMPANY 

EDITION BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
CHICAGO, U. S. A. 

©CI.A565803 


c 


PREFACE 


To enjoy Tom Brown's School Days, the reader must 
know something about its setting and have some com- 
prehension of the ideas, customs, and terms which, 
although unfamiliar to Americans, are commonplaces in 
English schoolboy life. The Introduction and Notes 
aim to give such information. A list of books is added, 
for the benefit of those who may wish to read further 
along lines suggested by the story. To the teacher, some 
knowledge of these books is essential; to the pupil, a 
few judicious selections will prove both valuable and 
interesting. 

A. B. DE Milee. 

Milton Academy, 

April 15, 1914. 


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CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I’KEFACE ;» 

Introduction i;i 

I. Thomas Hughes l.‘> 

11. “Arnold of Rugby” 20 

III. English Public Schools .'H 

IV. Tom Brownes School Days 42 

V. Suggestions for Extra Reading 45) 

Text 

Author’s Dedication ol 

Author’s Preface to the Sixth Edition oO 

Part I On 

Part II 2o7 

Notes lO.l 

Appendix 

Helps to Study 424 

Theme Subjects 420 

Selections for Cla.ss Reading 427 

Suggestions for Di.imatizatic.n 43ii 

Chronological Table 4.30 



THE COUNTRY OF TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 



INTRODUCTION 


I. Thomas Hughes 

Thomas Hughes was born at Uffington, in the county 
of Berkshire, on August 20, 1822. At the age of seven 
he went to a small “private” school at Twyford, in the 
south of England. Five years later he entered the great 
“ public ” school of Rugby, in order that he should be 
under the influence of Dr. Arnold, who had been a con- 
temporary of his father at Oriel College, Oxford, and 
who alread}' stood very high among English Head 
Masters. Hughes thoroughly approved of public school 
methods, as distinguished from those of private schools. 
“ The theory of private schools,” he says, “ is constant 
supervision out of school; thereby differing fundamen- 
tally from that of public schools.” He believed in what 
may be called the “home rule” system for boys — the 
system which has always been used in the best English 
schools. 

The career of Hughes at Rugby was like that of most 
normal boys. His progress was steady, if not brilliant; 
and he was distinguished for skill in athletics rather than 
for excellence in study. It is worthy of note, perhaps, 
tliat he owed his athletic prowess to a force of wdll which 
enabled him to overcome some natural physical w^eaknesses 
and to develop sound health and vigor. The culmination 
of his school career w as a great cricket match at “ Lords’,” 
the famous London grounds where so many school con- 
tests have taken place. But he owed to Rugby some- 
thing more than mere bodily strength: it was there that 
he laid the foundations of a noble character. Himself 


13 


14 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


a manly boy, he was powerfully attracted tlie essential 
manliness of Dr. Arnold. Through the influence of that 
great personality, his whole life was touched to finer 
issues. 

iVfter leaving Rugby, Hughes went to Oriel College, 
Oxford, — one of the tw^enty-one “colleges” of the Uni- 
versity. He took the degree of B. A. in 1845, having 
spent three years at Oxford. His life there was full 
and varied, and he eventually w’on a sufficiently high 
place in scholarship, as well as in athletics. Not long 
after Hughes left the University, the death of Dr. 
Arnold occurred. The shock of this loss w^as deeply 
felt by all old Rugbeians; ‘to Hughes it came as a 
personal grief which is clearly reflected in the closing 
chapter of Tom Brownes School Days. There can be 
little doubt that this chapter, though written nearly 
fifteen years afterwards, represents the writer’s actual 
feelings at the time of Arnold’s death. 

One naturally asks here, how' much of Tom Hughes 
goes to the making of Tom Brown? There are many 
things in the book which resemble the experiences of its 
author, who has even been criticized for presenting to 
the public a somewhat favorable picture of himself. But 
Hughes settled the question once for all in the Preface 
to Tom Brown at Oxford, which appeared in 1861. He 
wrote as follows: 

The natural pleasure which I felt at the unlocked for popularity 
of the first part of this story, was much lessened by the perti- 
nacity with which many persons . . . would insist (both in public 
and in private) on identifying the hero and the author. . . . 
Sensitiveness on such a point may seem folly, but if any readers 
had felt the sort of loathing and disgust which one feels at the 
notion of painting a favorable likeness of oneself in a work of 
fiction, they would not wonder at it. So, now that this book is 
finished, and Tom Brown, as far as I am concerned, is done with 


INTRODUCTION 


15 


forever, I must take this my first and last chance of saying that 
he is not I, either as boy or man — in fact, not to beat about the 
bush, is a much braver, and nobler, and purer fellow than ever 
I was. 


Hughes chose the law for his profession and was 
admitted to the Bar in 1848. As a lawyer he was 
uniformly successful and finally received an appointment 
to a County Judgeship. The work of a busy law office 
would suffice to exhaust the energies of most men, but 
Hughes was blessed with an overflowing vitality. He 
became deeply interested in the social conditions of the 
London poor and helped to found a “Working-Men’s 
College,” which was a sort of club where laborers and 
artisans w^ere trained in both body and mind to become 
better craftsmen. Chief among his associates were the 
Reverend F. D. Maurice, Chaplain of Lincoln’s Inn, 
where Hughes had studied law, and the Reverend Charles 
Kingsley, well-known as the author of Westward Hof 
All of them were thoroughly democratic, and hlughes, 
in particular, was ready at any time “ to box, to wrestle, 
or to sing a song” with his working-man friends. All 
believed in honest play as well as honest work: “Life 
is not all beer and skittles,” says Hughes, “but beer 
and skittles, or somefhing better of the same sort, must 
form a good part of every Englisliman’s education.” 
All felt that the class distinctions of the day were too 
rigid, and strove, by various practical means, to break 
down the barriers. 

These class distinctions formed, and still form, an im- 
portant factor in the English social organization. They 
are, indeed, an integral part of English life. No ade- 
quate explanation can be given here; but some indica- 
tion of what such distinctions signify is necessary to a 
correct understanding of Hughes’s life and work and to 
a proper enjo 3 ’ment of Tom Browrds School Days. We 


16 TOM BEOWN^S SCHOOL^ ATS 

must think of England in the first half of the nineteenth 
cenbiry, then, as organized on a modified “ feudal ” 
basis. At the head of the nation was the Sovereign, then 
came the ‘‘ nobility,” the “gentry,” and the “lower 
classes.” The nobility had certain privileges which the 
gentry did not enjoy; while the gentry were similarly 
favored over the lower, or “working” classes. All were 
of course equal in the eyes of the law, but there was a 
tendency for each class to disregard the one below it. 
One result* of this marked social inequality Hughes de- 
plores in stinging words addressed to the men of his 
own class: “I never knew but two of you,” he says, 
“who could value a man wholly and solely for what was 
in him ; who thought themselves verily and indeed of 
the same flesh and blood as John Jones the attorney’s 
clerk and Bill Smith the costermonger, and could act as 
if they thought so.” 

To bringing about a better understanding between 
the gentleman and the working-man, therefore, Hughes 
devoted much of his life. He and Maurice, with the 
group of earnest men they gathered round them, formed 
an organization of “ Christian Socialists,” and tried to 
help their less fortunate fellows through personal friend- 
ship as well as by religious influences. They taught the 
value of honest work; they endeavored, by means of 
cooperative societies, organized upon a profit-sharing 
basis and managed by the workers themselves, to ensure 
to the laborer a fair share in his own product. They 
were pioneers in a field which has since been widely 
extended; and the one who did most to open up the 
field was Thomas Hughes — “this cheery, sympathetic 
man . . . who was too true to believe that another man 
would lie.” 

It was to be expected that, with his strong interest in 
social reform, Hughes should stand for Parliament. He 


INTEODUCTION 


17 


was elected member for Lan^beth in 1865, and was chosen 
again in 1868 to represent Frome, a Somersetshire 
district. This position he held for six years. As a 
whole, his parliamentary career was not marked by any 
special achievement ; hut he was prominent in all meas- 
ures connected with bettering the conditions of the poor. 
In Parliament, as well as at Rugby and Oxford, he 
always tried to help those who most needed help. 

Throughout the whole of his long life, Hughes was 
a stanch friend of the United States. His interest in 
this country was first awakened by the poetry of James 
Russell Lowell, whose vigorous literary qualities appealed 
strongly to the big-hearted Englishman. As early as 
1857 he selected passages from Lowell’s poems for chap- 
ter headings in Tom Brown’s School Days. In 1859 he 
edited The Biglow Papers, and in 1891 he supervised 
a complete edition of Lowell’s poetical works. Owing 
chiefly to the influence of the American poet he became 
a supporter of the Northern policy in the Civil War. 
His first visit to America was made in 1870, when he de- 
livered two lectures: one in Boston, called John to 
Jonathan, — a sort of rejoinder to Lowell’s Jonathan to 
John; and another in New York, The Labor Qaestion. 
He received a warm welcome in America, his charm 
of personality no less than his fame winning him unusual 
popularity. Lowell said that “ there never was an 
Englishman who took this country so naturally as 
Hughes.” 

The most interesting result of this visit was the 
founding of the famous ‘‘cooperative colony” in Ten- 
nessee. For many years Hughes had been impressed 
bv the grinding conditions and the lack of opportunity 
for advancement which bore so hardly on the English 
laborer. “ Of the many sad sights in our England,” 
he said, “ there is none sadder than this, of first rate 


18 


TOM BEOWN’S SCUOOL DAYS 


material going liopclessl}^ to waste, and in many cases 
beginning to sour and taint, instead of strengthening 
the national life.” The vast areas of unappropriated 
land which he saw in the United States offered an 
opportunity which he was quick to seize. He had 
always seen great possibilities in the idea of cooperation ; 
so much so that at one time he held membership in no 
less than eighteen cooperative societies. He organized 
a cooperative company, therefore, the objects of which 
he outlined pretty clearly: ‘‘What you have to do is 
to discover a place on this broad planet where you may 
set to w'ork in the best conditions ... You want to 
get your chance to start in a place w^here what we call 
the English public school spirit, the spirit of hardiness 
and reticence, of scrupulousness in all money matters, 
of cordial fellowship, may be recognized and prevail.” 
The novelty of the plan drew' many supporters, and in 
1879 a tract of 50,000 acres was purchased near Cum- 
berland, Tennessee, and appropriately named “Rugby.” 
Three hundred colonists, chiefly young English farmers, 
were soon on the ground. The company had the refusal 
of 850,000 acres besides the original amount. The land 
was rich in natural resources, and for a time the 
cooperative colony flourished. But Hughes was less 
successful as a manager than as an organizer. He 
could more easily see — and vigorously insist upon — 
w'hat the employer ought to do to help the laborer, 
than what the laborer ought in fairness to do to forward 
the interest of his employer. For these reasons, and 
others which need not be touched on here, his relations 
w'ith the business men who backed the enterprise gradu- 
all}^ became such that he resigned his position as financial 
manager, — though never, surely, did manager resign 
possessing to a greater degree the good will of his 
company. The “New' Rugby” plan failed; but the 


INTRODUCTION 


19 


failure was in no sense dishonorable, and Hughes kept, 
in failure as in success, the cordial affection and sym- 
patliy of his friends in America. 

Among these friends Lowell stood always first and it 
is worth while to quote a letter of his, written to Hughes 
when the latter returned to England, because it shows 
the sort of friendship which Hughes inspired. 

Parting with you was like saying good-by to sunshine. As I 
took my solitary whiff o ’ baccy, after I got home, my study looked 
bare, and my old cronies on the shelves could not make up to me 
for my new loss. I sat with my book on my knees and mused, 
with a queer feeling about my eyelids now and then. And yet 
you have left so much behind that is precious to me, that by and 
by I know my room will have a virtue in it never there before, 
because of your presence. ... I would rather have the kind of 
welcome that met you in this country than all the shouts of all 
the crowds on the “Via Sacra” of fame. There was “love” in 
it, you beloved old boy, and no man ever earns that for nothing. 
. . . By Jove! it is worth wi'iting books for, — such a feeling 
as that. 

The reference in the last sentence is of course to 
Tom Brown's School Days, its author’s masterpiece; 
but Hughes wrote many other books, after this first 
success had encouraged him to continue a literary career. 
Tom Brown at Oxford is a sequel of the school story 
and an excellent tale in itself, — though overshadowed 
by its great predecessor. The Scouring of th£ White 
Horse was an outcome of the passage about White Horse 
Vale in Tom Brown, Hughes being detailed by a com- 
mittee of gentlemen of the county to write an account 
of the “scouring” of 1857. Alfred the Great is a 
biography of Hughes’s favorite hero in the past; the 
Life of Bishop Fraser tells of a contemporary hero. 
Among his other writings may be mentioned The Manli- 
ness of Christ, which was originally given in the form 


20 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DATS 


of Sunda}^ afternoon lectures at the Working-7den’s 
College. Hughes was a prolific writer, but the books 
named above are the most notable of his works and show 
pretty clearly the wide range of his interests. 

The last years of his life Hughes spent in the beau- 
tiful old town of Chester. He had won the love of 
generations of English schoolboys, and liked nothing 
better than to talk with those who had attended one of 
the big public schools. He prided himself on his ability 
to judge the caliber of his young visitors and would 
test them by a peculiarly strong handgrip. If the boy 
winced, he^was set down for a weakling and the inter- 
view was short; hut if the grasp was met firmly, the 
old man appeared pleased, generally testifying his 
approval with a copy of Tom Brown's School Days. 

He died at Brighton, on March 2Sd, 1896. “He 
was English of the English,” says a contemporary, “ full 
of muscular Christianity, straightforward and unsuspi- 
cious to a fault . . . extremely religious, with strong, 
socialistic leanings, but the substratum was still the 
manly country squire of old-fashioned, sport-loving 
England.” “ He had never grown old in all his seventy- 
three years,” writes an American friend; “he gave to 
the weak out of the wealth of his strength, and lived 
in his honest, eager way a life which in the measure of 
its abilities made the world a better and brighter place.” 

IT. “ Arnold of Rugby ” 

The Trustees of Rugby School w’ere called on in 1827 
to consider the appointment of a new Head Master. 
Among the names brought before them was that of 
Thomas Arnold, a clergyman who had won distinction 
at Oxford and who for some time had been engaged with 
peculiar success in preparing boys for the Universities. 


INTEODUCTION 


21 


His methods were such that one of his friends made the 
prediction that “ if Arnold is elected, he will change the 
face of education all through the public schools of 
Kngland” — a prophecy which came near to literal ful- 
fillment. Arnold received his appointment from the 
Trustees on December 2d, 1827, and entered upon his 
duties in August, 1828. 

So far, his life had been uneventful. He was born 
at West Cowes, on the Isle of Wight, in 1795, and 
received his early education partly at liome and partly 
at the small private school of Warminster. He attended 
Winchester College, one of the leading public schools, 
from 1807 till 1811, and in due course “went up” to 
Oxford, where he remained until 1820. The next seven 
years w’ere spent at Laleham, a beautiful little village in 
Surrey, where he took a few pupils in his own house. 
Here were first manifested those theories and ideals which 
afterwards bore rich fruit at Rugby. He had under 
him a group of students which was at no time large, but 
which was inspired by “his wonderful power of making 
all his pupils respect themselves, and of aw^akening in 
them a consciousness of the duties that God had assigned 
to them personally.” He w^as very happy at Laleham, 
and hesitated before entering the wider field of duty at 
Rugby. But the choice once made, he threw himself 
into the new work with characteristic thoroughness. 

The remainder of his career was centered in the great 
school; yet he found time for various “extra-scholastic” 
interests. He concerned himself with all the leading 
probletns of the time ; for he knew that the most efficient 
teacher is the one who keeps definitely in touch wdth 
the larger world of thought and action outside the sphere 
of his purely professional duties. He expressed himself 
freely and vigorously upon a great variety of topics — 
cliiefly by means of pamphlets and letters. His utter- 


22 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


ances were trenchant and influential beyond the limits 
of his immediate circle. He was, at the height of his 
career, “a figure round which clustered some of the 
most remarkable personages and interests of a stirring 
and eventful period.” His career, however, was suddenly 
cut short. In 1839 he felt that his strength had been 
overtaxed, and made an eff'ort to give up his charge of 
the School-house at Rugby. But the School-house boys 
sent in an affectionate appeal, to which he yielded. 
Among the signatures were the names of Tom Hughes, 
George Hughes, and Patrick Adam, who was said to be 
the original of Harry East. “We, the undersigned,” 
ran the boyish words, “have heard with regret 3 mur in- 
tention of giving up the School-house. We venture to 
say that the personal regard we feel for you would make 
us extremely lament your leaving us; and we humbly 
liope that this expression of our feelings may be allowed 
some weight in influencing your determination.” Two 
years later he accepted the Professorship of Modern 
History at Oxford. The extra work this entailed proved 
too much for a constitution already overstrained. On 
June 12th, 1842, he died very suddenly at Rugby from 
paral^^sis of the heart. The school had just closed for 
the summer. 

Arnold’s career was filled with labor and crowned witli 
honor; but his loftiest achievement was his work for 
Rugby, and it is the great “ Doctor ” of Tom Brown\s 
School Days that we are chiefly concerned with here. 
Rugby School, at the time of Arnold’s appointment, had 
a reputation as the most unruly school in England. When 
he went there, “the state of morals and behavior was 
eminently disheartening ; drunkenness and swearing were 
common vices; a reckless defiance of authority, and a 
hatred of submission to it, w^ere combined with servile 
cringing to the public opinion of the school. There was 


INTRODUCTION 


23 


great readiness to combine for evil, and a systematic per- 
secution carried on by the bad against the good.” Dur- 
ing the fourteen years of his headmastership he changed 
the whole spirit of the school. Boys trained at Rugby 
not only won honors at the University, but they were 
marked also by a deeper earnestness of purpose than was 
found among other boys. How was this change brought 
about ? 

It was brought about, first, by sound discipline. 
Arnold showed remarkable tact, as well as remarkable 
firmness, in dealing with his boys. He felt that if he 
were too quick to introduce reforms he would defeat his 
own ends, losing the support both of his older boys and 
of his colleagues. Hence he attempted to adapt to his 
use anything that was good in the old system, and made 
the necessary changes as experience taught him would 
be wise. For example, he did not try to abolish the time- 
honored custom of “fagging,” but molded it to suit 
his purposes. The fundamental idea of fagging — the 
rule of the younger boys by their older and wiser fel- 
lows — he considered to be sound and stated plainly his 
opinion of its position in school organization : “ By 

‘the power of fagging,’ I understand a power given by 
the supreme authorities of a school to the boys of the 
highest class or classes in it, to be exercised by them over 
the lower boys for the sake of securing the advantages 
of regular government among the boys themselves, and 
avoiding the evils of anarchy — in other words, of the 
lawdess tyranny of physical strength. This is the simple 
statement of the nature and end of public school fag- 
ging — an institution which, like all other government, 
has been often abused, and requires to be carefully 
watched, but which is as indispensable to a multitude of 
boys living together, as government, in like circum- 
stances, is indispensable to a multitude of men.” He 


24 


TOM BLOWN’S SCHOOL DATS 


constituted the sixth-form boys (the hi oiliest class) co- 
workers with himself ; making them understand that in 
their hands lay not only the supervision of the younger 
boys, but the welfare of the school. “I want you to 
feel,” he said, “how enormous is the influence you possess 
on all below you. ... You should feel like officers in the 
army, whose want of moral courage would be thought 
cowardice. When I have confidence in the sixth, there is 
no post in England that I would exchange for this; but 
if they do not support me, I must go.” 

His tactfulness is well illustrated by the way in which 
he checked the sporting proclivities of some of the boys 
who were accustomed to hire horses at Dunchurch, a 
neighboring village, and ride steeple-chases. On one 
occasion a young sportsman who had a very good opinion 
of himself as a rider boasted that he could beat any 
fellow in the school. A sixth-form boy accepted this 
challenge, won the race, and when the loser whined about 
the inferiority of his mount, swapped horses and won 
again. Arnold took no notice of all this ; whereupon the 
boys planned an elaborate cross-country run in which 
seven horses were entered. Then the Doctor sent for 
the winner of the original races, and said, “I know all 
about the match you rode the other day. If I had taken 
any public notice of it, I must have expelled you pub- 
licly. This would have ruined your career at Oxford, 
where you have just matriculated. . . . And now let me 
warn you and your friends. I know what you are intend- 
ing, and I will expel every boy who rides or is present, 
and will have the road watched to get the names.” The 
race did not take place. 

It is easy to see here the steel hand in the silk glove. 
Arnold’s discipline was as strong as it was tactful, and 
he very well knew when to use the dernier ressort — 
expulsion. He left no room for doubt as to his position. 


INTEODUCTION 


25 


“ Undoubtedly,” he said, “ it would be better if there 
was no evil, but evil being unavoidable, we are not a jail 
to keep it in, but a place of education where we must 
cast it out, to prevent its taint from spreading.” Again : 
“ If a boy has set his mind to do nothing, but considers 
all the work here as so much fudge, which he will evade 
if he can, he is sure to corrupt the rest, and I will send 
him away without scruple.” And there was yet another 
type which he sought to exclude. “When I get any 
in this part of the school who are not to be influenced — 
who have neither the will nor the power to influence 
others — not from being intentionally bad, but from very 
low wit and extreme childishness or coarseness of char- 
acter, — the evil is so great not only negatively or posi- 
tively (for their low' and false views are greedily caught 
up by those below them) that I know not how to pro- 
ceed, or how to hinder the school from becoming a place 
of education for evil rather than for good, except by 
getting rid of such persons.” On one occasion he said, 
in w'ords that touched the heart of his discipline : “ It is 

not necessary that this should be a school for three hun- 
dred, or even one hundred boys, but it is necessary that 
it should be a school for Christian gentlemen.” 

Along w'ith sound discipline, Arnold strove to inculcate 
sound scholarship. True, to the traditions of his day and 
generation and to his owm early training, he laid the 
chief stress upon classical learning: but he gave due 
attention also to modern languages, to mathematics, and 
to “ science ” — then first making its appearance in school 
curricula. His methods were so striking and his enthu- 
siasm so contagious that he brought new life into the 
routine of studies. It should be said that Arnold w’as a 
firm believer in the educational value of history, and in- 
sisted upon its usefulness as a training for public life. 
His own interest in the subject w^as very great, and he 


26 


TOM BROJVN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


wrote a History of Rome which was carried to the end of 
the Second Punic War. He felt that “history is past 
politics, and politics present histor}^,” and used historical 
study as a basis for teaching the principles of good citi- 
zenship. In all his instruction — whether languages, 
literature, or history — he was sane and thorough. The 
former quality is suggested in such utterances as that 
in which he urges that the faculties of his boys should 
be cultivated “ each in its season, first the memory and 
imagination, and then the judgment, to furnish them 
with the means and to excite the desire of improving 
themselves.” His thoroughness is indicated in a letter 
Avhich was written by a little boy who had been only 
three weeks at Rugby and which gives a vivid picture 
of xVrnold as a teacher: 

have been examined again by Dr. Arnold in Latin, and 
he seemed very much pleased with me. He is very particular. 
The least word you say or pronounce wrong he finds out in an 
instant, and he is very particular about chronology, history, and 
geography. He does not sit still like the other masters, but 
walks backwards and forwards all the time, and seems rather 
fidgety. . . . How particular he is, but at the same time so* mild 
and pleasant. I like saying to him very much. He asks much 
about history and puts queer out-of-the-way questions. I dare say 
you will be glad to hear that I got up to the top place for 
answering something about Themistocles. He seems very much 
pleased when I answer anything.” 

The writer of this letter, by tlie way, was Arthur 
Peiirh^m Stanley, who afterwards became the famous 
Dean Stanley of Westminster, and wrote the standard 
Life of Dr. Arnold. 

The subject of athletics, while not vital to a discus- 
sion of Arnold’s career, is nevertheless an interesting one 
in view of the fact that so much of a Rugby boy’s time 
was spent in the open air. In Arnold’s day, of course. 


INTRODUCTION 


27 


the matter had not assumed the portentous dimensions 
which it has reached in our time, when the “tyranny of* 
athletics” confronts every Head Master. Arnold had a 
hearty love for all forms of rational bodiH exercise. 
He felt that outdoor life was the greatest regenerating 
influence on earth for stale hearts and minds and bodies: 
but he felt too that it may be indulged in to excess and 
that while games of all sorts are good in themselves, 
there is the possibility that they will bring with them 
other things which are neither excellent nor desirable. 
He did nqthing to encourage “ that extravagant passion 
for athletics, that exaltation of physical prowess to the 
same level as intellectual distinction, which has in later 
years debased the ideal and hindered the usefulness of 
the great public schools.” ^ 

In general. Dr. Arnold’s conception of a school was 
that it should be a place for the formation of character. 
Training must come before teaching. Scholarship was 
regarded as a means to the greater end of developing 
good citizens. His whole management of the school was 
based on the conviction that what he had to look for in 
the boys, both morally and intellectually, was promise 
rather than performance. The very freedom and inde- 
pendence of school life, dangerous in themselves, might 
be made the best preparation for Christian manhood. 
He wanted as much as possible done hy the boys, and as 
little as possible for them. Looking to their future, he 

i“The most salient characteristic of modern schools,’^ says a 
recent English critic, in words which are applicable to American 
no less than English conditions, “is the reception of games into 
the curriculum on an equality with work, if not into a superior 
position. Of this Arnold would entirely have disapproved. He 
would have seen that it ministered to a lower standard of effort, 
that it vulgarized intellectual labor, that it substituted self-indulg- 
ence for self-denial, that it placed those boys in positions of com- 
mand and influence who were frequently most unfit to exercise the 
one or the other.” 


28 


TOM BEOWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


treated them as gentlemen and reasonable beings, appeal- 
ing alike to their conscience and their common sense. 
“ Lying, for example, he treated as a great moral offence : 
placing implicit confidence in a boy’s assertion, and then, 
if a falsehood were discovered, punishing it severely, — 
in the upper part of the school, when persisted in, with 
expulsion.” There was a general feeling that “ it’s a 
shame to tell Arnold a lie — -he always believes one.” 
His methods of school management, tested in the light 
of actual experience, have proved perhaps the most 
rational ever devised ; and their success is shown by the 
fact that when they were fully understood they were 
adopted by schools throughout the length and breadth 
of England. Head blasters of the present day are 
treading the road blazed long ago by Arnold of Rugby. 

It is the custom, in most I^nglish public schools, that 
the Head Master shall be a clergyman. Arnold showed 
the immense possibilities for good in such a custom. 
Under him Rugby Chapel became not only the center of 
the religious life of the school, but also a place where 
various matters of discipline could be set forth upon a 
higher plane than was possible elsewhere. His sermons 
were a potent influence for good in the dail}^ life of the 
boys. The following passage from Tom Brownes School 
Days is a fine commentary on Dr. Arnold’s dominating 
influence over reckless boys who, as Hughes says, put 
the traditions of Rugby and their own opinions above 
the laws of God. 

What was it which seized and held these three hundred boys, 
dragging them out of themselves, willing or unwilling, for twenty 
minutes on Sunday afternoons? . . . We couldn’t enter into half 
that we heard; we hadn’t the knowledge of our own hearts or tlie 
knowledge of one another. . . . But we listened, as all boys in 
their better moods will listen, to a man who we felt to be, with 
all his heart and soul and strength, striving against all that was 


INTRODUCTION 


29 


mean and unmanly and unrighteous in our little world. . . . And 
BO, wearily and little by little, but surely and steadily on the whole, 
was brought home to the young boy, for the first time, the mean- 
ing of his life ; that it was no fool ’s or sluggard ’s paradise into 
which he had wandered by chance, but a battle field ordained 
from of old. . . . And he who roused this consciousness in them, 
showed them at the same time, by every word he spoke in the 
pulpit, and by his whole daily life, how that battle was to be 
fought; and stood there before them their fellow-soldier and the 
captain of their band. The true sort of captain, too, for a boys^ 
army, who had no misgivings and gave no uncertain word of com- 
mand, and, let who would yield or make truce, would fight the 
fight out (so every boy felt) to the last gasp and the last drop 
of blood. 

The sermons of Dr. Arnold dealt with every phase of 
school life. They were never more than tw^enty minutes 
in length, but set forth, Sunday after Sunday, thoughts 
and ideals which remained with many a boy through life. 
Of the more deeply solemn of these sermons, Hughes 
gives an example in the chapter entitled “Fever in the 
School.” The following quotation wdll indicate the 
practical advice often given in Rugby Chapel: 

There are boys who have either never learned, or have forgotten 
all that may have been told them at home, of the duty of attend- 
ing to their school lessons. We know that there are boys who 
think all their lessons merely tiresome, and who are resolved never 
to take any more trouble about them than they can possibly avoid. 
But being idle themselves they cannot bear that others should be 
more attentive. We all know the terms of reproach and ridicule 
which are thrown out upon a boy who works in earnest and upon 
principle. He is laughed at for taking unnecessary trouble, for 
being afraid of punishment, or for wishing to gain favor wdth 
his masters, and be thought by them to be better than other 
boys. Either of these reproaches is one which a boy finds very 
hard to bear; he does not like to be thought afraid, or as wish- 
ing to court favor. He has not age or sense or firmness enough 


30 


TOM BEOWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


to know that the only fear of which he need be ashamed is the 
fear of his equals, the fear of those who are in no respect better 
than himself, and have, therefore, no right to direct him. To be 
afraid then of other boys is, in a boy, the same sort of weakness 
as it is in a man to be afraid of other men, and as a man ought 
to be equally ashamed of fearing men and of not fearing God, 
so a boy ought to be ashamed of fearing boys, and also to bo 
ashamed of not fearing his parents and instructors. 

The religious influence of Dr. Arnold was the glory 
of his career. He was above all things a sincere Chris- 
tian. Like Chaucer’s Parson, and in a very literal sense, 

Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve. 

He taughte, and first he folwed it himselve. 

His faith in God was founded upon absolute convic- 
tion. To him any compromise with evil, any deviation 
from the straight and narrow path of manly duty, was 
an act of treachery to all that was best worth living for. 
There was manifest in his own religious ideals something 
so strong and earnest, something so vital and sincere, 
that he was able to create in Rugby boys a kind of moral 
earnestness and courage which stamped them through 
after life. His boys were ‘‘thoughtful, manly-minded, 
conscious of duty and obligation.” The change that he 
wrought at Rugby in this matter was mirrored in public 
school life throughout England. “This change,” wrote 
a contemporary Head Master of another school, “ is 
undoubtedly part of a general improvement of our gen- 
eration in respect of piety and reverence, but I am sure 
that to Dr. Arnold’s personal earnest simplicity of pur- 
pose, strength of character, power of influence, and 
piety, which none who ever came near him could mis- 
take or question, the carrying of this improvement into 
our schools is mainly attributable. He was the first.” 


INTRODUCTION 


31 


The effect of Dr. Arnold’s example and teaching on 
the boys committed to his charge can scarcely be over- 
estimated. Few indeed are those who have accomplished 
so much definite good in a space so brief as that allotted 
to him for his life’s work. His fame has not lessened 
with the lapse of time. The following words were written 
more than fifty years after his death and show how 
strong were his memory and influence : “ No one made a 
deeper change in education, a change which profited 
those who had never been at a public school. As much 
as any one who could be named, Arnold helped to form 
the standard of manly worth by which Englishmen judge 
and submit to be judged. ... A man of action him- 
self, he sent out from Rugby men fit to do the work of 
the world. . . . Even in the volume of national life as it 
flows today, there may be detected the effect of the pure, 
bracing stream which long ago joined it.” 

III. English Public Schools 

American readers of Tom Brownes School Days are 
sometimes puzzled over the term “public school” as 
applied to a boarding-school like Rugby. In this coun- 
try a “public school” is an institution supported by 
the state to educate boys and girls free of charge. The 
English public school, however, is not supported by the 
state, does not afford free education, and exists for the 
benefit of boys exclusively. In many ways it resembles 
the American “ private,” or “ preparatory ” school, 
such as Exeter, Lawrenceville, or St. Paul’s; while our 
public schools find their counterpart in the “ Board 
Schools ” or “ National Schools” of England. In order 
to understand what the English “ public school ” really 
is, we shall have to consider, somewhat in detail, one or 
two typical examples. 


32 


TOM BmWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


There are about fifteen great public schools in Eng- 
land, of which nine stand out prominently. The names 
of these, with the dates of their founding, may be given 
here: Winchester, 1387; Eton, 1440; St. Paul’s, 1512; 
Westminster, 1540; Shrewsbury, 1551; Merchant Tay- 
lor’s, 1561 ; Rugby, 1567 ; Harrow, 1571 ; Charterhouse, 
1611. The first of them, therefore, came into existence 
a century before Columbus discovered America; the last, 
nine years before the Pilgrim Fathers set foot on 
Plymouth Rock. Their work and their influence has 
been continuous and today they occupy a position in 
English life w^hich is not paralleled by the schools of any 
other nation. Winchester, Eton, and Rugby, may be 
taken to illustrate some of their more interesting features. 

Winchester College was founded by William of Wyke- 
ham, who was at the time Bishop of Winchester. Pie 
was a great statesman and a great architect as well as 
a Bishop, having made his w^ay up from humble begin- 
nings to a position of power and influence'. He had 
already founded a College at Oxford: the real purpose 
of his school was to fit boys for this college. Wykeham’s 
College w^as then called “New College,” and has kept 
the name to the present day, though now it is five hun- 
dred years old. Standards of work at Winchester and 
New College have always been high, and “ getting off 
to New” (winning a scholarship in their college) is the 
chief ambition of the best Winchester boys. Several 
other public schools are affiliated in somewhat similar 
fashion with one or other of the twenty odd colleges of 
which Oxford is made up, — Eton, for example, with 
Christ Church, and Merchant Taylor’s with St. John’s. 

The system of discipline devised by William of Wyke- 
ham has become the foundation of boarding-school 
organization in England. It was based upon the theory 
that boys are capable of self-government in their com- 


INTRODUCTION 


33 


munity life; that the best results are secured by putting 
them in control of their own affairs under properly 
selected leaders. His ideas are set forth in the original 
statutes of the school. He provided that in each of the 
“ lower chambers ” there should be “ at least three 
scholars of good character, more advanced than the rest 
in age, discretion, and knowledge, who may superintend 
their chamber-fellows in their studies, and oversee them 
diligently, and may from time to time certify and inform 
the Warden, Sub-warden, and Head Master, respectively, 
of their behavior, conversation, and progress.” There 
are today eighteen boys thus set apart to govern their 
fellows. These boys are called “ Prefects,” and discharge 
their duties well and honorably. Under this system — 
which, as has been said, is followed in more or less modi- 
fied form in all the English schools — the masters are 
freed from much petty detail, while discipline certainly 
does not seem to suffer. An American critic^ speaks 
liighly of the English system of boy government. “ The 
honorable responsibility which is placed upon the Pre- 
fects,” he says, “has a tendency to inspire them to use 
their power justly, and it is probably true that boys 
leave the English schools with more definitely formed 
characters than are found in American boys who are 
entering college.” Manners Makyth Man — character 
makes the man, as it may be paraphrased — was the 
motto chosen by William of Wykeham for his school. 
It indicates well enough the principle laid down by the 
first of the English public schools ; a principle ever since 
kept in view by those of later foundation. 

Winchester served directly as the model of Eton Col- 
lege, which was founded by King Henry the Sixth within 
sight of his castle at Windsor. King Henry w as deeply 
interested in education, and King’s College, Cambridge, 

^ Mr. John Corbin, author of School Boy Life in England. 


34 


TOM BEOWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


is a further monument of his zeal. To ensure the success 
of his school, the King took from Winchester the Head 
Master, five Fellows,^ and thirty-five boys. Eton has 
always been favored by the aristocracy, and many young 
noblemen go there at the present time. The spirit is 
very democratic, how^ever; the youthful aristocrat must 
make his own way just as at any other school, for his 
rank will not help him. It was an Eton boy who 
remarked that his chances of kicking a Duke would 
probably be confined to his school days ; a Duke’s son at 
Eton, therefore, will not ordinarily call the attention of 
his schoolmates to the fact of his noble birth ! At present 
Eton is the largest of the public schools, with upwards 
of 1000 boys. The “old boys” comprise rather an 
exceptional number of men of genius, as well as of rank. 

Rugby was founded by a plain “commoner” — Law- 
rence Sheriff, a grocer of Rugby town. It is better 
known in America than any other English school — 
partly because of the personal influence of Hughes and 
partly because of the popularity of Tom Brownes School 
Days. In his will Sheriff left £100, together with some 
land in Rugby and Brownsover, for the establishment 
of a school and some almshouses. He planned to 
build on to the house where he was born “a fayre and 
convenyent schoole bowse.” He specified that there 
should be “an honest, discrete, and learned man . . . 
reteyned to teach a Free Grammar School in the said 
schoole bowse.” The master was to receive £12 a year. 
The school was intended chiefly for the children of 
Rugby and Brownsover, but it was open also to “such 
as bee of other places thereto adjoining.” A short time 
before his death Sheriff changed the bequest of £100 to 
a third share in some real estate on the borders of Lon- 

^Tho Follows of Winchostor were the Masters. Strictly speaking, a 
Fellow was a member of a college corporation. 


INTBODUCTWN 


35 


don. T.he growth of the city caused a great increase 
in the value of this land and today the bequest brings 
an income of about $28,000 annually. For many years 
Rugby possessed a merely local reputation, and did not 
stand very high among the schools of England. In 168T, 
however, and again in 1737, a wise selection of Head 
Masters greatly increased its prosperity. Finallj^ under 
Hr. Arnold, it became firmly established as one of tlie 
leading schools of the country. 

The arrangements as to terms, daily hours, and the 
housing of the boys in vogue at Rugby may perhaps be 
taken as indicating in a general w^ay the methods usually 
followed — though it must be pointed out that the 
schools differ among themselves, often very widely. The 
year at Rugby is divided as follows — the dates given 
here being only approximate: 

Cliristmas Term Oct. 1-Dec. 21 

Holidays Dec. 21- Jan. 18 

Easter Term Jan. 18- Apr. 1 

Holidays Apr. 1-May 1 

Summer Term May 1-Aug. 1 

Holidays Aug. 1-Oct. 1 

The equable English climate permits of a more even 
division of the year than is possible in this country. 
Each term is complete in itself, with examinations at the 
end to determine promotion into the next higher “ form.” 
The forms somewhat resemble the “classes” in an Amer- 
ican high school, although the marked differences in 
nomenclature and general arrangement make any com- 
parison very difficult. At Rugby the forms are organ- 
ized in the following order: sixth (highest form); the 
twenty ; upper fifth ; lower fifth ; upper middle one, two, 
three ; lower middle one, two ; shell. Each form is per- 
manentR in charge of its own master, and the best boys 


30 TOM BEOWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 

in each are promoted at the end of every term. Thus 
a boy “ goes up the school ” strictly according to hi. 
own ability. The age of entrance into the school is set 
at from thirteen to fifteen years, and, while there is no 
“ graduation ” in our sense of the word, the average 
age of leaving is about nineteen. Recitations are held 
ever}^ morning in the week except Sunday. First lesson 
comes from 7.15 to 8.15; second lesson, from 10.30 to 
11.30; third lesson, from 11.45 to 1.15. Preparation 
for first lesson comes from 7.45 to 9 the night before; 
for the others during the morning. Afternoon recita- 
tions are unprepared and come only on Wednesday and 
Friday and sometimes on Monday. The hours are: 
3.30 — 4, 4.20 — 5. 05, ,5.05 — 5.50. Days when there are 
no afternoon recitations are called ‘‘half-holidays,” the 
IMondaj^ half-holiday being known as “ middle-week.” 

The housing of the boys at Rugby is organized today 
on a far more elaborate scale than in the time of Tom 
Brown, and steam heat and electric lighting have done 
away with the discomforts of the old regime. At present 
there are six hundred boys in attendance, quartered in 
the “ School-house ” and in eight other “ Houses ” 
throughout the town; in Tom Brown’s day there were 
only four houses. Of these the School-house is the mo.st 
important. It contains the Head Master’s apartments 
and rooms for seventy boys. The rivalry between the 
various Houses is very keen both in athletics and studies. 
The whole school has changed much in outward appear- 
ance since Tom Brownes School Days was written; but 
the main features of the school life and the essential 
Rugby spirit have remained practically unaltered, so that 
a visitor to the school does not find it hard to imagine 
himself back in the days uf Tom and East. Especially 
is this true of the government of the different houses. 
Each is in nominal charge of a master; but the actual 


INTBODUCTION 


37 


conduct of affairs is in the hands of the older boys, be- 

<i hind whom, but not too near, stands . the authority of 
the school. 

' P erhaps the most noteworthy characteristics of the 

public schools of England are their individuality and 
their faithfulness to tradition. Each school stands abso- 
lutely on its own feet, showing certain strongly marked 
characteristics which differentiate it from all the others. 
At Eton and Rugby, for instance, different types of 
football are played, and at most of the schools there is a 
special kind of slang in words relating to men, build- 
ings, and customs. At Winchester the school slang has 
risen almost to the dignity of a dialect, and is quite unin- 
telligible to the uninitiated. Tradition, also, has a very 
great influence. It has bred a conservatism which doubt- 
less shows some objectionable features. But the A’^alue 
of good traditions — and some of them are very good — 
extending for generations into the past, cannot but 
affect beneficially both the boys and the school. It is 
worthy of note that these traditions center for the most 
part about the ideas of clean sport and school loyalty. 
“ The traditions of the ancient schools of England,” says 
the American critic quoted on p. 33, “ have triumphed 
because they stand for the good sense and manhood of 
many centuries, and because they are represented today 
not by written laws, but by men.” 

A comparison between English and American boys’ 
schools would be interesting, but is very difficult to make 
with any degree of justice. The points of difference are 
many, and while the American private school resembles 
its English contemporary to some extent, yet even here 
the actual resemblance is not very great. A word or two 
about some of these differences will help to make clearer 
the English methods. 

One of the differences between the English and the 


38 


TOM BBOWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


American boarding-school is found in the system of 
government. The two prominent features of the 
English method are : the liberty allowed to all boys, 
and the control, exercised by the older boys- over the 
younger. The degree of self-government permitted 
to the boys in England and the* responsibility placed 
upon the leaders is such as no American Head Master 
has yet ventured to introduce. That the method entails 
serious dangers, the English public school man would 
readily admit; but he would argue that this very fact 
makes the system infinitely worth while in the develop- 
ment of character, and that the dangers arising from the 
misuse of liberty and power must always co-exist with 
the advantages to be derived from their proper use. 
Whether the plan is adaptable to American conditions, 
cannot be discussed here, but its value in the English 
educational system has been proved beyond question. 
The present Head Master of Rugby has said that the 
responsibility placed on the older boys is the only safe- 
guard for the tone and morals of the school. 

Another difference of usage in the two countries is 
seen in athletics. American and English boys alike de- 
vote a great deal of their time to outdoor exercise; but 
in American schools the sports are far more highly or- 
ganized than is the case in England. There is an elabor- 
ate “coaching” system, and in the whole matter of 
athletics the procedure of the schools is modelled closely 
on that of the colleges. In English schools, on the other 
hand, the boys have built up their own traditions and 
are left to carry on their own games pretty much in 
their own way without much supervision from the 
authorities, the theory being that it is best for the boy 
to fend for himself, and work out his own solutions of 
his mistakes. In no school is found so thoroughly de- 
veloped a system of coaching and training as is seen in 


INTKODiCTlCN 


39 


America. “ Interscholastic meets,” so common with us, 
never take place, and the various schools are bound by 
no such university influences as we find here. The ath- 
letic interest of each school is centered largely in its own 
“ inter-house ” matches, of which regular series are 
played. Comparatively speaking, there are few games 
with outsiders — though such events as the annual Eton- 
Harrow cricket match attain almost national importance. 
On the whole, while no satisfactory general statement 
can be made upon so difficult a subject, yet it may be 
said that the American schoolboy takes his sport more 
seriously than the English youth. 

No discussion of the English public schools is com- 
plete without some mention of their remarkable efficiency 
in training boys for life. It is not merely that they 
prepare for the Universities, or the Navy and the Army, 
but rather that they train their boys, in a very practical 
way, to be good “all-round” men. The result of the 
kind of education which they provide is, according to 
an American writer, to make a man surprisingly solid 
in character, and at the same time surprisingly simple 
and natural. They seem to bring out the best virtues 
of the average Englishman. The Duke of Wellington, 
himself an Old Etonian, said that the battle of Water- 
loo was won on the playing-fields of Eton and Rugby, 
and it is true that England owes much to the men 
trained in her public schools. 

A great many famous Englishmen have been so 
trained. At Eton, for instance, are recorded the names 
of the poet Shelley, William Pitt (Earl of Chatham), 
Lord Canning, W. E. Gladstone, and Lord Roberts — 
most beloved of recent British soldiers. Harrow counts 
among her sons Byron, Sir Robert Peel, Lord Palmer- 
ston, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, and Admirals Rodney 
and Hood. Among the former pupils of Merchant Tay- 


40 


TOM BBOWN'S SCHOOL BAYS 


lor’s are Edmund Spenser, author of The Faerie Queene^ 
and Robert Clive, founder of the English Empire in 
India. At St. Paul’s were educated Milton, the great 
Duke of Marlborough, and Major Andre. To West- 
minster belong John Drjden, Gibbon, Warren Hastings, 
Southey, and Cowper. Cliarterhouse claims Addison, 
Steele, John Wesley, and Thackeray, whose love for 
his old school is revealed in a familiar passage in The 
Ncwcomes. Rugby’s list does not, perhaps, comprise 
so many celebrities as some of the other schools, yet a 
number of Rugbeians have won honor in the diplomatic 
service and three names stand high among men of let- 
ters: Walter Savage Landor, Arthur Hugh Clough, 
and Matthew Arnold, son of the great Head Master. 
Many Rugby boys have served in the Army and Navy; 
upwards of 400 of them are actually on record as having 
distinguished themselves in these professions between 
1744 and the present time. Remembering this long roll 
of honor, one can easily understand how it is that 
English “ Public School men ” have an intense pride in 
being “ Old Etonians ” or “ Old Harrovians ” or “ Old 
Rugbeians.” 

But the foundation of this intense love and loyalty 
lies in something more personal than tradition and his- 
tor 3 \ It lies in the fact that for six years or more, at 
the most impressionable period, the boy has been a 
member of a close community bound together by ties 
of the strongest interest and interpenetrated by ideas of 
duty, honor, and service handed down through many 
generations. Moreover, he has been thrown on his own 
resources, he has been made to stand on his own feet, 
and in the process has gained self-control and strength 
of character. He has been taught to “play the game” 
for the game’s sake; taught that a fair fight is some- 
times better than victory. To comprehend what the 


INTRODUCTION 


41 


public school means to an English boy, and to feel the 
continuity of the finest things in the life at these schools, 
one should supplement Tom Brown's School Days by 
reading The Hill, a tale of Harrow School published in 
1906. In its own way this book bears comparison with 
its great predecessor ; ’and it shows clearly the persistency 
of the best ideals in the public school system. 

These ideals are well summarized in the following lines 
written by Henry Newbolt, an old public school boy: 


There’s a breathless hush in the Close tonight — 
Ten to make and the match to win — 

A bumping pitch and a blinding light, 

An hour to play and the last man in. 

And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat, 

Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame, 

But his captain’s hand on his shoulder smote 
‘ ‘ Play up ! Play up ! and play the game ! ’ ’ 

The dust of the desert is sodden red — 

Ked with the wreck of a square that broke — 
The gatling’s jammed and the colonel dead. 

And the regiment blind with dust and smoke, 
The river of death has brimmed his banks. 

And England’s far and Honor a name. 

But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks, 

'‘Play up! Play up! and play the game!” 

This is the word that year by year 

While in her place the school is set 
Every one of her sons must hear. 

And none that hears it dare forget. 

This they all with a joyful mind 

Bear through life like a torch in flame 
And, falling, fling to the host behind — 

"Play up! Play up! and play the game!” 


IV. Tom Brown'S School Bays 


The story of Tom Brownes School Bays has had a 
remarkable popularity. The book -was first published in 
1857, and within a year ran into six editions. It has 
been widely read ever since, and retains its popularity 
at the present day, although it is a tale of schoolboy 
life in the “thirties” — eight 3 ^ years ago. There are, 
however, good reasons for this popularity. In the first 
place, the story broke new ground : up to the time of its 
appearance no English novelist had written a “ boys’ ” 
book. Again, it possessed a delightful vigor of style 
and freshness of treatment. And finally, the characters 
were true to life. The}’ remain true to life, because 
tliey were based on actuality. Times have changed, 
indeed ; school studies have become more highly developed 
and school sports more highly organized. But the diffi- 
culties and temptations which surrounded Tom and his 
friends, the standards of honor and sportsmanship which 
the}^ set up, are, in the main, those of the schoolboys of 
the present day. The best qualities of boyhood are still 
what they were when Tom battled for his House against 
the School, or Arthur knelt down alone in the crowded 
dormitory. 

Hughes was not a literary man by training, and no 
one was more surprised than he when the public received 
his story with so much favor. His object in writing the 
book is stated very clearlv in the preface to the sixth 
edition : 

The fact is that I can scarcely ever call on one of my con- 
temporaries nowadays without running across a boy already at 
school, or just ready to go there, whose bright looks and supple 
limbs remind me of his father, and our first meeting in old times. 


INTRODUCTION 


43 


I can scarcely lieep the Latin Grammar out of my own house any 
longer; and the sight of sons, nephews, and godsons playing 
trap-bat-and-ball and reading ^‘Kobinson Crusoe/’ makes one 
ask oneself if there isn’t something one would like to say to 
them before they take their first plunge into the sea of life, away 
from their own homes, or while they are yet shivering from the 
first plunge. 

Another object he also kept in view, but did not state so 
explicitly — to pay to Dr. Arnold, his old Head Master, 
the tribute of a thankful and loving heart. 

A great many “boys’ books” have been written since 
Tom Brownes School Days appeared, but of the story 
for boys about boys we can find no trace before its pub- 
lication. Dickens and Thackeray both touched upon 
school life, but only incidentally. The truth is, that 
boys, and especially schoolboys, were uninteresting to 
the novelists of the eighteenth and early nineteenth cen- 
turies ; the point of view of these writers was not unlike 
that of the Shepherd in Shakespeare’s Winters Tale: 
“ I would that there were no age between ten and tliree 
and twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest.” 
This lack of interest, indeed, does not seem to have hccn 
confined to the writers. ^lany good people felt that 
boyhood was an unfortunate necessity — a troublesome 
period to be lived through as quickly as possible and 
with as little harm as might be. Public schools, there- 
fore, were usually regarded as havens where young folk 
w’ould be reasonably safe until the dangerous time was 
past. It w'as left for Hughes to break down this in- 
difference and to show the interest attaching to boy life 
in general and especially to life at a great school. To 
him, the attitude just described seemed both foolish and 
evil. He revealed, in his sensible and manly w^ay, the 
strength and charm of boyhood, while he did not gloze 
over its weakness and immaturity. He gave a “true 


44 


TOM BBOWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


picture of what everyday school life was in my time, and 
not a kid-glove and ‘go-to-meeting-coat picture.” It 
was an attractive picture : this first of boy stories re- 
mains, in the opinion of most critics, the truest and the 
best. 

When we turn to the style of Tom Brown's School 
Days, we find a freedom and unconventionality which at 
times are almost conversational. It is w^ell adapted to the 
episodic character of the story, in which a number of 
incidents are strung together on a very slight thread of 
plot. In the hands of an unskillful w^riter such a style 
soon becomes tedious and ineffective; if managed 
capably, however, it imparts a swdng and a vividness that 
a more formal treatment might not attain. To be 
effective, this style must have a fundamental and uncon- 
scious sincerity which is not within the scope of most 
writers: if it becomes self-conscious it loses all effect. 
Thackeray used it in masterly fashion and it was well 
employed b}" Charles and Henry Kingsley in their best 
works — Westward Ho! and Ravenshoe. One character- 
istic of the “ confidential ” style, as it may be termed, is 
that the author now and then steps before the curtain, 
so to speak, and talks familiarly wdth his readers. Hughes 
follow^s the practice and has been accused of “preach- 
ing but he disarms criticism in the following w’ords : 

My whole object in writing at all was to get the chance of 
preaching! . . . My sole object in writing was to preach to boys: 
if ever I write again, it will be to preach to some other age. I 
can’t see that a man has any business to write at all unless he has 
something to say which he thoroughly believes and wants to 
preach about. 


The world is all the better for the vigorous English 
and tlie straightforward preaching of men like Hughes, 


INTRODUCTION 


45 


and his cheerful sermons find an excellent medium in the 
style of his book. 

Besides a vigorous style, Tom Brownes School Days 
shows a thoroughly wholesome point of view. This is, 
perhaps, its most pleasing feature. The author’s ideas 
about schoolboy morality, or scholarship, or athletics, 
are based upon a splendid belief in “whatsoever things 
are true, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things 
.are pure, whatsoever things are of good report.” This 
wdiolesome attitude is well illustrated in the passages 
w^hich deal with questions of religion. Hughes’s opinions 
on the subject, formed at Rugby under Arnold and de- 
veloped in the stress and strain of his own strong man- 
hood, w^ere utterly at variance with the unfortunate con- 
ception (then rather prevalent) that piety and decency 
could be manifested only by sheltered and meditative 
lives. He felt and taught — and showed by his ow^n ex- 
ample — that the highest and noblest living w^as com- 
patible with the most virile manhood. He was one of 
the original exemplars of w^hat we now call “muscular 
Christianity ” : all his abounding strength w'as enlisted 
on the side of righteousness. Hence, he creates, in Tom 
and East, boys who are strong, clean, and manly. Yet 
he does not lose sight of the fact that the religion of the 
average boy is vague and unformed — a matter of habit 
rather than conviction. Tom and East have a service- 
able, w orkaday code of ethics which is well defined by the 
former in a conversation w-ith Arthur: 

‘ ‘ I want- to be A1 at cricket and football, and all the other 
games, and to make my hands keep my head against any fellow, 
lout or gentleman. I want to get into the sixth before I leave, 
and to please the Doctor; and I want to carry away with me just 
as much Latin and Greek as will take me through Oxford com- 
fortably. There now, young ’un, I never thought of it before, 
but that’s pretty much about my figure. Ain’t it all on the 


46 


TOM BEOWN^S SCHOOL DAYS 


square? What have you got to say to that? . . . But you’ve 
forgot one thing — what I want to leave behind me. I want to 
leave behind me,” said Tom, speaking slow, and looking much 
moved, ^‘the name of a fellow who never bullied a little boy, or 
turned his back on a big one.” 

East says, in another place, that “ all’s fair in war, but 
lying.” The morality of healthy, thoughtless youth is 
pretty well summed up in these statements, and Hughes 
is too honest to put false sentiment into the mouths of 
his boys. But it is not only the rugged type, with 
rough, undifferentiated ideas of morality, that Hughes 
has pictured. In the character of Arthur we find the 
sensitiveness, which shrinks from the touch of the world. 
Yet it is contact with the harsh realities of school that 
brings out the best in Arthur’s character. On the other 
hand, the highest qualities possessed by Tom and East 
are stirred into activity b}" the influence of the quieter, 
more introspective youth. 

In those parts of the book which touch on scholar- 
ship, the same sensible point of view^ appears. The boys 
are not young paragons of learning, nor are they 
unpleasantly illiterate and slangy. They do their school 
work as most boys do — for the good and sufficient rea- 
son that it must be done. Tom tries all the short cuts 
to knowdedge, and, finding out eventually under Arthur’s 
guidance that real work is best in the long run, 
attempts to win his chums over to his own w^ay of think- 
ing, with results not less amusing than true to life. He 
lacks enthusiasm for his studies — a state of affairs which 
is not uncommon with the average boy. In the person 
of Arthur, however, is represented the highest type of 
scholar: a type sufficiently noble to satisfy the most 
exacting critic. 

Of the author’s love for outdoor sports it is hardly 
necessary to speak : the whole book breathes of the open 


JNTliODUCTlON 


47 


air. American schoolboys, trained in the fine points of 
modern football, will possibly look askance at Hughes’s 
description of the game as played at Rugby. Yet that 
match of long ago contains the germ of all the later 
development of football; and we are made to feel, as 
clearly as if we stood on the ground, its value in calling 
forth courage, determination, and “ school spirit.” The 
“ Barby Run ” — nine miles across country on a cold 
November afternoon — is another example of the phys- 
ical requirements demanded b}’^ Hughes of the healthy 
boy ; and he enters into it as keenly as if he were a boy 
himself. It is impossible not to admire these young run- 
ners and football players of eighty years ago, who 
showed in all their games such vigor and good sports- 
manship. 

A word remains to be said about certain striking pas- 
sages in the book. Chief among these is the noble 
description of White Horse Vale. Hughes loves English 
country life and English scenery, and his enthusiasm for 
his owm county of Berkshire has inspired the finest piece 
of description in the book. Another excellent bit is the 
account of Tom’s ride to Rugby on the coach. The inci- 
dents are so well selected, the whole narrative is so full 
of life and bustle, that it is comparable to the celebrated 
passage in De Quincey’s English Mail Coach, or to the 
stage-j ourneys in some of Dickens’s novels. The ride 
of Tom Pinch to London, in Martin Chuzzlewit; the 
uncomfortable experience of Mr. Jarvis Lorry on the 
Dover Mail, in A Tale of Tico Cities; the varied 
wanderings of the Pickwickians, in The Pichwick 
Papers — these all are masterly. But with any of these 
Tom Brown’s ride may be compared, without suffering 
bv the comparison. Another passage, of almost Homeric 
quality, is the fight between Tom Brown and Slogger 
Williams. One learns w ith interest, and with not a little 


48 


TOM BBOWN’S SCHOOL HAYS 


surprise, that this excellent piece of narration has been 
condemned by some critics on the ground of brutality. 
Such critics can have but a cursory knowledge of 
Hughes’s comment on the subject: 

Boys will quarrel, and when they quarrel, will sometimes fight. 
Learn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket or football. Not 
one of you will he the worse, but very much the better, for learn- 
ing to box well. ... As to fighting, keep out of it if you can, by 
all means. When the time comes, if it ever should, that you have 
to say ^^Yes” or ^‘No’’ to a challenge to fight, say ^‘No’^ if 
you can, — only take care that you make it clear to yourselves 
why you say “No.^/ It^s a proof of the highest courage, if done 
from true Christian motives. . . . But don’t say “No” because 
you fear a licking. . . . And if you do fight, fight it out; and 
don’t give in while you can stand or see. 

The fight itself is described in Hughes’s best vein, and 
show^s the little intimate touches which add so much to 
the effect. It should be compared with some other of 
the great combats in English literature, such as that of 
Alan Breck and the sailors on the brig, in Kidnapped, 
or the fight between John Ridd and the Carver, in Lorna 
Doone. For vigor of movement and rugged pictur- 
esqueness of detail the passage in question is the equal 
of anything of its kind. 

There are but few^ books of the past century wEich 
surpass in general attractiveness Tom Brownes School 
Days. The style is clear and vigorous, the characters 
are true to life, and some of the descriptive passages are 
unusually effective. The book is full of the essence of 
boy life; for its author w^as a boy at heart to the very 
end of his career. It advocates no pretentious ungen- 
uine educational theories; it unfolds no new doctrine as 
a panacea for all the ills that boyhood flesh is heir to. 
The story from beginning to end is simple, strong. 


INTBODUCTION 


49 


clean, and kindly. It was written to please and to help 
boys — those who one day will be 

“ Neither children nor gods, but men in a world of 
men.” 


V. Suggestions eor Extra Reading 

The Scouring of the White Horse. Thomas Hughes. 
The story of a London clerk's holiday, in which he 
witnesses the time-honored festival of the “ scour- 
ing,” and sees many charming features of Berkshire 
life. 

Rugby. H. C. Bradby. Illustrated. The most recent 
history of the school. Full, accurate, interesting. 

Rambles around Rugby. Alfred Rimmer. Contains a 
good account of the founding of Rugby School. 

Every-day Life in the Public Schools. C. E. Pascoe, 
Editor. Written by Head Scholars of Rugby, 
Eton, Winchester, etc. 

The Public Schools: Notes of their History and Tradi- 
fions. C. W. Lucas. Five of the leading schools 
are described, including Rugby. 

A Day of my Life: Every-day Experiences at Eton. 
G. N. Banks. An amusing sketch written by an 
Eton boy. 

School Boy Life in England. An American View. John 
Corbin. Illustrated. Brightly written descriptions 
of life at Winchester, Eton,, and Rugby. The 
author lived for a time at each of the schools, in 
order to gain first-hand knowledge. 

Some Famous American Schools. O. F. Adams. Illus- 
trated. Contains sketches of ten well-known Amer- 
ican boarding schools, among them St. Paul’s and 
Lawrenceville. 

The Life and Correspondence of Thomas Arnold. Arthur 


50 


INTRODUCTION 


Penrhyn Stanley. The standard biography of 
Arnold. 

Thomas and Matthew Arnold and their Influence on 
English Education. Sir Joshua Fitch. A masterly 
study of the work of the Arnolds, father and son. 
Rugby Chapel. Matthew Arnold. A beautiful poetical 
tribute to the memory of his father. 

England and the English. From an American Point of 
View. Price Collier. Termed by a prominent 
English statesman the best book ever written by an 
American about England. A just and able account 
of the characteristic features of English life. 

Among stories of English schoolboy life, the follow- 
ing will be found interesting: Stalky and Co., by Rud- 
yard Kipling, amusing though exaggerated ; and The 
Hill, by H. A. Vachell, a school story of unusual merit. 


TO 

MBS. AENOLD 


OF POX HOWE 

THIS BOOK IS (without HER PERMISSION) 

S>c&(catc& 

BY THE AUTHOR 

WHO OWES MORE THAN HE CAN EVER ACKNOWLEDGE OR FORGET 


TO HER AND HERS 






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AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE SIXTH 
EDITION 

I RECEIVED the following letter from an old friend 
soon after the last edition of this book was published, 
and resolved, if ever another edition were called for, to 
print it. For it is clear from this and other like com- 
ments, that something more should have been said 
expressly on the subject of bullying, and how it is to 
be met. 

My Dear : I blame myself for not having earlier sug- 

gested whether you could not, in another edition of Tom Brown 
or another story, denounce more decidedly the evils of 'bullying at 
schools. You have indeed done so, and in the best way, by making 
Flashman the bully the most contemptible character; but in that 
scene of the tossing and similar passages you hardly suggest that 
such things should be stopped, and do not suggest any means of 
putting an end to them. 

This subject has been on my mind for years. It fills me with 
grief and misery to think what weak and nervous children go 
through at school — how their health and character for life are 
destroyed by rough and ’brutal treatment. 

It was some comfort to be under the old delusion that fear and 
nervousness can be cured by violence, and that knocking about 
will turn a timid boy into a bold one. But now we know well 
enough that is not true. Gradually training a timid child to do 
bold acts would be most desirable; but frigJiiening him and ill- 
treating him will not make him courageous. Every medical man 
knows the fatal effects of terror or agitation or excitement to 
nerves that are over-sensitive. There are different kinds of cour- 
age, as you have shown in your character of Arthur. 

53 


54 


PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION 


A hoy luay have moral courage and a finely organized brain and 
nervous system. Such a boy is calculated, if judiciously educated, 
to be a great, wise, and useful man; but he may not possess 
animal courage; and one night’s tossing, or bullying, may pro- 
duce such an injury to his brain and nerves that his usefulness is 
spoiled for life. I verily believe that hundreds of noble organiza- 
tions are thus destroyed every year. Horse- jockeys have learnt 
to be wiser; they know that a highly nervous horse is utterly 
destroyed by harshness. A groom who tried to cure a shying 
horse by roughness and violence would be discharged as a brute 
and a fool. A man who would regulate his watch with a crowbar 
would be considered an ass. But the person who thinks a child 
of delicate and nervous organization can be made bold by bully- 
ing is no better. 

He can be made bold by healthy exercise and games and sports; 
but that is quite a different thing. And even these games and 
sports should bear some proportion to his strength and capacities. 

I very much doubt whether small children should play with big 
ones; the rush of a set of great fellows at football, or the speed 
of a cricket-ball sent by a strong hitter, must be very alarming 
to a mere' child, to a child who might stand up boldly enough 
among children of his own size and height. 

Look at half a dozen small children playing cricket by them- 
selves; how feeble are their blows, how slowly they bowl. You 
can measure in that way their capacity. 

Tom Brown and his eleven were bold enough playing against 
an eleven of about their ONvn caliber; but I suspect they would 
liave been in a precious funk if they liad played against eleven 
giants, whose bowling bore the same proportion to theirs that 
theirs does to the small children’s above. 

To return to the tossing. I must say I think some means might 
be devised to enable school-boys to go to bed in quietness and 
peace, and that some means ought to be devised and enforced. 
No good, moral or physical, to those who bully or those who are 
bullied, can ensue from such scenes as take j)lace in the dormi- 
tories of schools. I suspect that British wisdom and ingenuity 
are sufficient to discover a remedy for this evil, if directed in the 
right direction. 


PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION 


oo 


The fact is, that the condition of a small boy at a large school 
is one of peculiar hardship and suffering. He is entirely at the 
mercy of proverbially the roughest things in the universe, — great 
school-boys; and he is deprived of the protection which the Aveak 
have in civilized society, for he may not complain; if he does, 
he is an outlaw: he has no protector but public opinion, and that 
a public opinion of the very lowest grade, — the opinion of rude 
and ignorant boys. 

What do school-boys know of those deep questions of moral 
and physical philosophy, of the anatomy of mind and body, by 
which the treatment of a child should be regulated? 

Why should the laws of civilization be suspended for schools? 
Why should boys be left to herd together with no law but that of 
force or cunning? What would become of society if it were con- 
stituted on the same principles? It would be plunged into anarchy 
in a week. 

One of our judges, not long ago, refused to extend the protec- 
tion of the law to a child who had been ill-treated at school, 
rf a party of navvies had given Mm a licking, and he had brought 
the case before a magistrate, what would he have thought if the 
magistrate had refused to protect him, on the ground that if such 
cases were brought before him he might have fifty a day from 
one town only ? 

Now I agree with you that a constant supervision of the mas- 
ter is not desirable or possible, and that telling tales or con- 
stantly referring to the master for protection would only produce 
ill-will and worse treatment. 

If I rightly understand your book, it is an effort to improve 
the condition of schools by improving the tone of morality and 
public opinion in them. But your book contains the most indubi- 
table proofs that the condition of the younger boys at public 
schools, except under the rare dictatorship of an old Brooke, is 
one of great hardship and suffering. 

A timid and nervous boy is from morning till night in a state 
of bodily fear. He is constantly tormented when trying to learn 
his lessons. His play-hours are occupied in fagging, in a horrid 
funk of cricket-balls and footballs, and the violent sport of crea- 
tures who, to him, are giants. He goes to his bed in fear and 


56 


FEE FACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION 


trembliug, — worse than the reality of the rough treatment to 
which he is perhaps subjected. 

I believe there is only one complete remedy. It is not in 
magisterial supervision, nor in telling tales, nor in raising the 
tone of public opinion among school-boys, but in the separation 
of hoys of different ages into different schools. 

There should be at least three different classes of schools, — • 
the first for boys from nine to twelve; the second for boys from 
twelve to fifteen; the third for those above fifteen. And these 
schools should be in different localities. 

There ought to be a certain amount of supervision by the master 
at those times when there are special occasions for bullying, e. g., 
in the long winter evenings, and when the boys are congregate<l 
together in the bedrooms. Surely it cannot be an impossibility 
to keep order, and protect the weak at such- times. Whatever 
evils might arise from supervision, they could hardly be greater 
than those produced by a system Avhich divides boys into despots 
and slaves. 

'Ever yours, very truly, 

F. 


The question of how to adapt English public-school 
education to nervous and sensitive boys (often the high- 
est and noblest subjects which that education has to deal 
with) ought to be looked at from every point of view.^ 
I therefore add a few' extracts from the letter of an old 
friend and school-fellow', than whom no man in England 
is better able to speak on the subject. 


^ For those who believe with me in public-school education, the fact 
stated in the following extract from a note of Mr. G. De Bunsen will 
be hailed with pleasure, especially now that our alliance with Prussia 
(the most natural and health European alliance for Protestant Eng- 
land) is likely to be so much stronger and deeper than heretofore. 
Speaking of this book, he says, “ The author is mistaken in saying 
that public schools, in the English sense, are peculiar to England. 
Schul Pforte (in the Prussian province of Saxony) is similar in 
antiquity and institutions. I like his book all the more for having 
been there for five years.” 


PEE FACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION 


57 


What ’s the use of sorting the boys by ages unless you do so 
by strength: and who are often the real bullies? The strong 
young dog of fourteen, while the victim may be one year or two 
years older. ... I deny the fact about the bedrooms: there is 
trouble at times, and always will be; but so there is in nurseries; 
— my little girl, who looks like an angel, was bullying the smallest 
twice today. 

Bullying must be fought with in other ways, — by getting not 
only the sixth to put it down, but the lower fellows fo scorn it, and 
by eradicating mercilessly the incorrigible; and a master who 
really cares for his fellows is pretty sure to know instinctively who 
in his house are likely to be bullied, and, knowing a fellow to be 
really victimized and harassed, I am sure that he can stop it if he 
is resolved. There are many kinds of annoyance — sometimes of 
real cutting persecution 'for righteousness ’ sake — that he can ’t' 
stop; no more could all the ushers in the world; but he can do 
very much in many ways to make the shafts of the wicked 
pointless. 

But though, for quite other reasons, I don’t like to see very 
young boys launched at a public school, and, though I don’t deny 
(I wish I could) the existence from time to time of bullying, I 
deny its being a constant condition of school life, and still more, 
the possibility of meeting it by the means proposed. . . . 

I don ’t wish to understate the amount of bullying that goes on ; 
but my conviction is that it must be fought, like all school evils, 
but it more than any, by dynamics rather than mechanics, by get- 
ting the fellows to respect themselves and one another, rather than 
by sitting by them with a thick stick. 

And now, having broken my resolution never to write 
a preface, there are just two or three things which. I 
should like to say a word about. 

Several persons, for whose judgment I have the 
liighest respect, while saying very kind things about 
this book,'have added that the great fault of it is, “too 
mucli preaching;” but they hope I shall amend in tliis 
matter should I ever write again. Now this I most 


58 


F REF ACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION 


distinctly decline to do. Why, my whole ol)ject in 
writing at all M'as to get the chance of preaching ! When 
a man conies to my time of life, and has his bread to 
make, and very little time to spare, is it likely that he 
will spend almost the whole of his yearly vacation in 
writing a story just to amuse people.^ I think not. At 
any rate, I wouldn’t do so myself. 

The fact* is, that I can scarcely ever call on one of 
my contemporaries nowada^'s without running across a 
boy already at school or just ready to go there, whose 
bright looks and supple limbs remind me of his father, 
and our first meeting in old times. I can scarcely keep 
the Latin Grammar out of my own house any longer; 
and the sight of sons, nephews, and godsons phnung 
trap-bat-and-ball and reading “ Robinson Crusoe,” makes 
one ask oneself whether there isn’t something one would 
like to say to them before tliey take their first plunge 
into the stream of life, away from their own homes, or 
while they are yet shivering after the first plunge. My 
sole object in writing was to preach to_ boys : if ever I 
write again, it will be to preach to some other age. I 
can’t see that a man has any business to write at all 
unless he has something which he thoroughly believes 
and wants to preach about. If he has this, and the 
chance of delivering himself of it, let him by all means 
put it in the shape in whicli it will be most likely to get 
a hearing; but let him never be so carried away as to 
forget that preaching is Ins object. 

A black soldier, in a West Indian regiment, tied up 
to receive a couple of dozen for drunkenness, cried out 
to his captain, wlio was exliorting him to sobriety in 
future, “ Cap’ll, if you preachee, preachee ; and if floggee, 
floggee ; but no preachee and floggee too ! ” to which 
his captain might have replied, “No, Pompey, I must 
preach wlien'ever I sec a chance of being listened to, 


PHEFACK TO THE SIXTH EDITION 


59 


wliicli I never did before ; so now you must have it alto- 
gether; and I hope jmu may remember some of it.” 

There is one point wliich has been made by several of 
the reviewers who have noticed this book, and it is one 
wliich, as I am writing a preface, I cannot pass over. 
They have stated that the Rugby undergraduates they 
remember at the Universities were “ a solemn array,” 
“boys turned into men before their time,” “a semi- 
political, semi-sacerdotal fraternity,” etc., giving the 
idea that Arnold turned out a set of young square-toes, 
wlio wore long-fingered black -gloves and talked with 
a snuffle. I can only say that their acquaintance must 
have been limited and exceptional. For I am sure that 
every one who has had anything like large or continuous 
knowledge of boys brought up at Rugby, from the times 
of which this book treats down to this day, will bear me 
out in saying, that the mark by which you may know 
them is their genial and hearty freshness and youthful- 
ness of character. They lose nothing of the boy that is 
worth keeping, but build up the man upon it. This is 
their differentia as Rugby boys ; and if the}^ never had 
it, or have lost it, it must be not because they were at 
Rugby, but in spite of their having been there ; the 
stronger it is in them, the more deeply you may be sure 
have they drunk of the spirits of tlieir school. 

Rut this boyishness, in the highest sense, is not incom- 
patible with seriousness, — or earnestness, if you like 
the word better.^ Quite the contrary. And I can well 
believe that casual observers, who have never been inti- 
mate with Rugby boys of the true stamp, but have met 
them only in the everyday society of the Universities, 
at wines, breakfast parties, and the like, may have seen 

1 “To him (Arnold) and his admirers we owe the substitution of 
the word ‘earnest’ for its predecessor •serious .’’’- — Edinburgh 
Revieu:, No. 217, p. 18H. 


60 


FEEFACE TO TEE SIXTH EDITION 


a good deal more of the serious or earnest side of their 
characters than of any other. For the more the boy 
was alive in them, the less will they have been able to 
conceal their thoughts or their opinion of what was 
taking place under their noses ; and if the greater part 
of that didn’t square with their notions of what was 
right, very likely they showed pretty clearly that it did 
not, at whatever risk of being taken for young prigs. 
They may be open to the charge of having old heads on 
young shoulders ; I think they are, and always were as 
long as I can remember ; but so long as they have young 
hearts to keep head and shoulders in order, I, for one, 
must think this only a -gain. 

And what gave Rugby boys this character, and has 
enabled the school, I believe, to keep it to this day.^ I 
say fearlessly, — Arnold’s teaching and example — abova, 
all, that part of it which has been I will not say sneered 
at, but certainly not approved — his unwearied zeal in 
creating “ moral thoughtfulness ” in every boy with 
whom he came into personal contact. 

He certainly did teach us — thank God for it! — that 
we could not cut our life into slices and sa}^ “ In this 
slice 3^our actions are indifferent, and 3^011 needn’t trou- 
ble your heads about them one wa^* or another; but in 
this slice mind what you are about, for they are impor- 
tant” — a pretty muddle we should have been in had 
he done so. He taught us that in this wonderful world, 
no boy or man can tell which of his actions is indifferent 
and which not; that by a thoughtless word or look we 
may lead astray a brother for whom Christ died. He 
taught us that life is a whole, made up of actions and 
thoughts and longings, great and small, noble and 
ignoble; therefore the only true wisdom for boy or man 
is to bring the whole life into obedience to Him whose 
world we live in, and who has purchased us with His 


PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION 


61 


blood; and that whether we eat or drink, or whatsoever 
Me do, Me are to do all in His name and to His glory ; 
in such teaching, faithfully, as it seems to me. following 
that of Paul of Tarsus, Mho M as in the habit of meaning 
Mdiat he said, and who laid doMn this standard for every 
man and boy in his time. I think it lies Muth those M^ho 
say that such teaching m ill not do for us now, to show 
M’hy a teacher in the nineteenth century is to preach a 
loM’er standard than one in the first. 

However, I won’t say that the reviewers have not a 
certain plausible ground for their dicta. For a short 
time after a boy has taken up such a life as Arnold 
M'ould have urged upon him, he has a hard time of it. 
He finds his judgment often at fault, his body and intel- 
lect running av^ay wdth him into all sorts of pitfalls, 
and himself coming doMn Muth a crash. The more 
seriously he buckles to his Mork, the oftener these mis- 
chances seem to happen ; and in the dust cf his tum- 
bles and struggles, unless he is a very extraordinary 
boy, he may often be too severe on his comrades, may 
think he sees evil in things innocent, may give offence 
M'hen he never meant it. At this stage of his career, 
I take it, our revieM'er comes across him ; and, not look- 
ing below the surface (as a reviewer ought to do), at 
once sets the poor boy doMm for a prig and a Pharisee, 
when in all likelihood he is one of the humblest and 
truest and most childlike of the revieM^er’s acquaintance. 

But let our review^er come across him again in a year 
or two, wFen the ‘Hhoughtful life” has become habitual 
to him, and fits him as easily as his skin ; and, if he be 
honest, I think he muII see cause to reconsider his judg- 
ment. For he wdll find the boy, groMn into a man, 
enjoying everyday life, as no man can mFo has not 
found out M’hence comes the capacity for enjoyment, and 
who is the Giver of the least of the good things of this 


62 


PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION 


world — humble, as no man can be who has not proved 
his own powerlessness to do right in the smallest act 
which he ever had to do — tolerant, as no man can be 
who does not live daily and hourly in the knowledge of 
how Perfect Love is forever about his path, and bearing 
with and upholding him. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


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TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS, 

BY AN OLD BOY 


CHAPTER I 

THE BROWN FAMILY 

I’m the Poet of White Horse Vale, Sir, 

With liberal notions under my cap. 

Ballad. 

The Browns have become illustrious bj the pen of 
Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle within the memory 
of the young gentlemen who are now matriculating at 
the Universities. Notwithstanding the well-merited but 
late fame which has now fallen upon them, any one at 
all acquainted with the family must feel that much has 
yet to be written and said before the British nation will 
he properly sensible of how much of its greatness it owes 
to the Browns. For centuries, in their quiet, dogged, 
homespun way, they have been subduing the earth in 
most English counties, and leaving their mark in Amer- 
ican forests and Australian uplands. Wherever the fleets 
and armies of England have won renown, there stalwart 
sons of the Browns have done yeomen’s work. With the 
yew bow and cloth-yard shaft at Cressy and Agincourt, 
with the brown bill and pike under the brave Lord Wil- 
loughby, with culverin and demi-culverin against Span- 
iards and Dutchmen, with hand-grenade and saber, and 


C6 


TEE SHOWN FAMILY 


musket and bayonet, under Rodney and St. Vincent, 
Wolfe and Moore, Nelson and Wellington, they have 
carried their lives in their hands; getting hard knocks 
and hard work in plenty, which was on the whole what 
they looked for, and the best thing for them, — and little 
praise or pudding, which indeed they, and most of us, 
are better without. Talbots and Stanleys, St. Maurs, 
and such-like folk, have led armies and made laws time 
out of mind ; but those noble families would be somewhat 
astounded — if the accounts ever came to be fairly 
taken — to find how small their work for England has 
been by the side of that of the Browns. 

These latter, indeed, have, until the present genera- 
tion, rarely been sung by poet or chronicled by sage. 
The}^ have wanted their “ sacer vates,” ^ having been 
too solid to rise to the top by themselves, and not hav- 
ing been largely gifted with the talent of catching hold 
of, and holding on tight to, whatever good things hap- 
pened to be going, — the foundation of the 'fortunes of 
so many noble families. But the world goes on its way, 
and the wheel turns, and the w rongs of the Browms, like 
other wrongs, seem in a fair way to get righted. And 
this present writer, having for many years of his life 
been a devout Brown-w orshipper, and moreover having 
the honor of being nearly connected with an eminently 
respectable branch of the great Brown family, is anxious, 
so far as in him lies, to help the wheel over, and thrown 
his stone on to the pile. 

However, gentle reader, or simple reader, whichever 
you may be, lest you should be led to waste your precious 
time upon these pages, I make so bold as at once to tell 
you the sort of folk you’ll have to meet and put up with, 
if you and I are to jog on comfortably together. You 
shall hear at once what sort of folk the Browns are, at 


^ Holy prophor. 


TBE BBOWN CHAU AC TEE 


67 


least my branch of them ; and then if you don’t like the 
sort, why, cut the concern at once, and let you and me 
cry quits before either of us can grumble at the other. 

In the first place, the Browns are a fighting family. 
One may question their wisdom, or wit, or beauty, but 
about their fight there can be no question. Wherever 
hard knocks of any kind, visible or invisible, are going, 
there the Brown who is nearest must shove in his carcass. 
And these carcasses, for tlie most part, answer very well 
to the characteristic propensity ; they are a square- 
headed and snake-necked generation, broad in tlie 
shoulder, deep in the chest, and thin in the flank, cann- 
ing no lumber. Then for clanship, they are as bad as 
Highlanders ; it is amazing the belief they have in one 
another. With them there is nothing like the Browns, 
to the third and fourth generation. “Blood is thicker 
than water,” is one of their pet sayings. They can’t be 
happy unless they are always meeting one another. 
Never were such people for family gatherings, which, 
were you a stranger, or sensitive, you might think had 
better not have been gathered together. For during the 
whole time of their being together they luxuriate in tell- 
ing one another their minds on whatever subject turns 
up ; and their minds are wonderfull}" antagonistic, and 
all their opinions are downright beliefs. Till you’ve been 
among them some time and understand them, you can’t 
think but that they are quarreling. Not a bit of it; 
they love and respect one another ten times the more 
after a good set family" arguing bout, and go back, one 
to his curacy, another to his chambers, and another to 
his regiment, freshened for work, and more than ever 
convinced that the Browns are the height of conipan}". 

Tliis family training, too, combined with their turn 
for coinbativeness, makes them eminently quixotic. They 
can’t let anything alone which they think going wrong. 


G8 


TOM BEOWN’S BIETHPLACE 


They must speak their mind about it, annoying all 
easy-going folk; and spend their time and money in 
having a tinker at it, however hopeless the job. It is 
an impossibility to a Brown to leave the most disreputa- 
ble lame dog on the other side of a stile. Most other 
folk get tired of such work. The old Browns, with red 
faces, white whiskers, and bald heads, go on believing 
and fighting to a green old age. They have always a 
crotchet going, till the old man with the scythe reaps and 
garners them away for troublesome old boys as they are. 

And the most provoking thing is, that no failures 
knock them up, or make them hold their hands, or think 
you, or me, or other sane people in the right. Failures 
slide off them like July rain off a duck’s back feathers. 
Jem and his whole family turn out bad, and cheat them 
one week, and the next they are doing the same thing 
for Jack; and when he goes to the treadmill, and his 
wife and children to the workhouse, they will be on e 
lookout for Bill to take his place. 

However, it is time for us to -get from the general to 
the particular; so, leaving the great army of Browns, 
who are scattered over the whole empire on which the 
sun never sets, and whose general diffusion I t^ke to be 
the chief cause of that empire’s stability, let us at once 
fix our attention upon the small nest of Browns in which 
our hero was hatched, and which dwelt in that portion 
of the royal county of Berks which is called the Vale 
of White Horse. 

Most of you have probably traveled down the Great 
Western Railway as far as Swindon. Those of you 
who did so with their eyes open, have been aware, soon 
after leaving the Didcot station, of a fine range of chalk 
hills running parallel with the railway on the left-hand 
side as you go down, and distant some two o.r three miles, 
more or less, from the line. The highest point in the 


TEE OLD BOY MOUBNETH 69 

range is the White Horse Hill, which you come in front 
of just before you stop at the Shrivenham station. If 
3"ou love English scenery and have a few hours to spare, 
\^ou can’t do better, the next time you pass, than stop at 
the Farringdon-road or Shrivenham station, and make 
3’our way to that highest point. And those who care 
for the vague old stories that haunt country-sides all 
about England will not, if the}’^ are wise, be content 
with only a few hours’ sta}^ ; for, glorious as the view 
is, the neighborhood is yet more interesting for its relics 
of bygone times. I only know two English neighbor- 
hoods thoroughly, and in each, within a circle of five 
miles, there is enough of interest and beauty to last any 
reasonable man his life. I believe this to be the case 
almost throughout the country, but each has a special 
attraction, and none can be richer than the one I am 
speaking of and going to introduce you to very par- 
t '^larly; for on this subject I must be prosy; so those 
that don’t care for England in detail may skip the 
chapter. 

O young England! young England! You w'ho are 
born into these racing railroad times, when there’s a 
Great Exhibition, or some monster sight, every year; 
and you can get over a couple of thousand miles of 
ground for three pound ten, in a five weeks’ holiday ; 
why don’t you know more of v^our own birthplaces.^ 
You’re all in the ends of the earth, it seems to me, as 
soon as you get your necks out of the educational collar, 

for Midsummer holidays, long vacations, or what not, 

going round Ireland, with a return ticket, in a fort- 
night; dropping your copies of Tennyson on the tops 
of Swiss mountains; or pulling down the Danube in 
Oxford racing-boats. And when you get home for a 
quiet fortnight, you turn the steam off, and lie on your 
baclis in the paternal garden, surrounded bv the last 


70 


THE OLD BOY MOUBNETH 


batcli of books from Miidic’s library, and half bored to 
death. Well, well! I know it has its good side. You 
all patter French more or less, and perhaps German; 
you have seen men and cities, no doubt, and have your 
opinions, such as they are, about schools of painting, 
high art, and all that; have' seen the pictures at Dresden 
and the Louvre, and know the taste of sour krout. All 
I say is, you don’t know your own lanes and woods and 
fields. Though you may be chock full of science, not 
one in twenty of you knows where to find the wood- 
sorrel, or bee-orchis, which grow in the next wood, or 
on the down three miles off, or what the bog-bean and 
wood-sage are good for. And as for the country 
legends, the stories of the old gable-ended farmhouses, 
the place where the last skirmish was fought in the civil 
wars, where the parish butts stood, where the last high- 
wayman turned to bay, where the last ghost was laid by 
the parson, they’re gone out of date altogether. 

Now, in my time, when we got home by the old coach,^ 
which put us down at the cross-roads with our boxes, the 
first day of the holidays, and had been driven off by the 
family coachman, singing “ Dulce domum” at the top 
of our voices, there we were, fixtures, till black Monday 
came round. We had to cut out our own amusements 
within a walk or a ride of home. And so we got to 
know all the country folk, and their ^vays and songs 
and stories, by heart ; and went over the fields, and woods, 
and hills, again and again, till we made friends of them 
all. We were Berkshire, or Gloucestershire, or Yorkshire 
boys, and you’re young cosmopolites, belonging to all 
counties and no countries. No doubt, it’s all right; I 
dare say it is. This is the day of large views and 
glorious humanity, and all that; but I wish back-sword 
play hadn’t gone out in the Vale of White Horse, and 


VALE OF WRITE HORSE 


71 


that that confounded Great Western hadn’t carried away 
Alfred’s Hill to make an embankment. 

But to return to the said Vale of White Horse, the 
country in which the first scenes of this true and inter- 
esting story are laid. As I said, the Great Western now 
runs right through it; and it is a land of large rich 
pastures, bounded by ox-fences, and covered with fine 
hedgerow timber, with here and there a nice little gorse 
or spinney, where abideth poor Charley, having no other 
cover to which to betake himself for miles and miles, 
when pushed out some fine November morning by the 
Old Berkshire. Those who have been there, and well 
mounted, only know how he and the stanch little pack 
who dash after him — heads high and sterns low, with 
a breast-high scent — can consume the ground at such 
times. There being little plough-land and few woods, 
the Vale is only an average sporting country, except for 
hunting. The villages are straggling, queer, old-fash- 
ioned places, the houses being dropped down, without 
the least regularit}^, in nooks and out-of-the-way corners, 
by the sides of shadowy lanes and footpaths, each with 
its patch of garden. They are built chiefly of good 
gray stone, and thatched ; though I see that wdthin the 
last year or two the red-brick cottages are multiplying, 
for the Vale is beginning to manufacture largely botli 
brick and tiles. There are lots of waste ground by the 
side of the roads in every village, amounting often to 
village greens, where feed the pigs and ganders of the 
people ; and these roads are old-fashioned, homely roads, 
very dirty and badly made, and hardly endurable in win- 
ter, but still pleasant jog-trot roads, running througli 
the great pasture lands, dotted here and there with little 
clumps of thorns, where the sleek kine are feeding, with 
no fence on either side of them, and a gate at the end 
of each field,, which makes you get out of your gig (if 


72 


WHITE HORSE HILL 


you keep one), and gives you a chance of looking about 
you every quarter of a mile. 

One of the moralists whom w'e sat under in my youth 

— was it the great Richard Swiveller, or Mr. Stiggins.? 

— says, “We are born in a vale, and must take the 
consequences of being found in such a situation.” These 
consequences, I for one am ready to encounter. I pity 
people who weren't born in a vale. I don’t mean a flat 
country, but a vale: that is, a flat country bounded by 
hills. The having your hill always in view if you choose 
to turn toward him, that’s the essence of a vale. There 
he is forever in the distance, your friend and companion ; 
you never lose him as you do in hilly districts. 

And then what a hill is the White Horse Hill ! There 
it stands right up above all the rest, nine hundred feet 
above the sea, and the boldest, bravest shape for a chalk 
hill that you ever saw. Let us go up to the top of him, 
and see what is to be found there. Ay, you may well 
wonder, and think it odd you never heard of this before; 
but, wonder or not, as you please, there are hundreds 
of such things lying about England, which wiser folk 
than you know nothing of, and care nothing for. Yes, 
it’s a magnificent Roman camp, and no mistake, with 
gates, and ditch, and mounds, all as complete as it was 
twenty years after the strong old rogues left it. Here, 
right up on the highest point, from which they say you 
can see eleven counties, they trenched round all the table- 
land, same twelve or fourteen acres, as was their custom, 
for they couldn’t bear anybody to overlook them, and 
made their eyrie. The ground falls away rapidly on 
all sides. Was there ever such turf in the whole world 
You sink up to your ankles at every step, and yet the 
spring of it is delicious. There is always a breeze In 
the “camp,” as it is called, and here it lies, just as the 
Romans left it, except that cairn on the east side, left 


BATTLE OF ASUDOJVN 


73 


bj her Majesty’s corps of Sappers and Miners tlit,' otlier 
day, when they and the Engineer officer had finished 
their sojourn there, and their surveys for the Ordnance 
Map of Berkshire. It is altogether a place that you 
won’t forget, — a place to open a man’s soul and make 
him prophesy, as he looks down on that great Vale 
spread out as the garden of the Lord before him, and 
wave on wave of the mysterious downs behind ; and to 
the right and left the chalk hills running away into the 
distance, along which he can trace for miles the old 
Roman road, “ the Ridgeway ” ( the Rudge ” as the 
country folk call it), keeping straight along the highest 
back of the hills; — such a place as Balak brought 
Balaam to, and told him to prophesy against the people 
in the valley beneath. And he could not, neither shall 
you, for they are a people of the Lord who abide there. 

And now we leave the camp, and descend toward the 
west, and are on the Ashdown. We are treading on 
heroes. It is sacred ground for Englishmen, more sacred 
than all but one or two fields where their bones lie 
whitening. For this is the actual place where our 
Alfred won his great battle, the battle of Ashdown 
(“iEscendum” in the chroniclers) which broke the 
Danish power, and made England a Christian land. The 
Danes held the camp and the slope where we are 
standing — ^the whole crowm of the hill, in fact. “The 
heathen had beforehand seized the higher ground,” as 
old Asser says, having w'astcd everything behind them 
from London, and being just ready to burst down on 
the fair Vale, Alfred’s own birthplace and heritage. And 
up the heights came the Saxons, as they did at the Alma. 
“The Christians led up their line from the lower ground. 
There stood also on that same spot a single thorn-tree, 
marvelous stumpy (which we ourselves with our very 
own eyes have seen).” Bless the old chronicler! does 


74 


BATTLE OF ASHDOWN 


he think nobody ever saw the ‘‘ single thorn-tree ” but 
liimself? Why, there it stands to this very day, just 
on the edge of the slope, and 1 saw it not three weeks 
since; an old single thorn-tree, “marvelous stumpy.” 
At least if it isn’t the same tree, it ought to have been, 
for it’s just in the place where the battle must have been 
won or lost — “around which, as I was saying, the two 
lines of foemen came together in battle with a huge 
shout. And in this place, one of the two Kings of the 
heathen and five of his earls fell down and died, and 
many thousands of the heathen side in the same place.” ^ 
After which crowning mercy, the pious King, that there 
might never be wanting a sign and a m.emofial to the 
country-side, carved out on the northern side of the 
chalk hill, under the camp, where it is almost precipitous, 
the great Saxon white horse, which he who will may see 
from the railway, and which gives its name to the Vale, 
over which it has looked these thousand years and 
more. 

Right down below the White Horse is a curious deep 
and broad gully called “ the Manger,” into one side of 
which the hills fall with a series of the most lovely 
sweeping curves, known as “ the Giant’s Stairs ; ” they^ 
are not a bit like stairs, but I never saw anything like 
them anywhere else, with their short green turf, and 
tender bluebells, and gossamer and thistle-down gleaming 
in the sun, and the sheep-paths running along their sides 
like ruled lines. 

^ “ Pagani editiorem locum pra?occupaverant. Christian! ab infe- 
rior! loco aciem dirigebant. Erat quoque in eodem loco unica spinosa 
arl)or, brevis admodum, (quam nos ipsi nostris propriis oculis vidi- 
mus). Circa quam ergo hostiles interC se acies cum ingenti clamore 
hostiliter conveniunt. Quo in loco alter de duobus Paganorum regibus 
et quinque comites occisi occubuerunt, et multa millia Paganje partis 
in eodem loco,” Annales Rerum Gestarum A^lfredi Maqni, Auctore 
Aftscrio. Recensuit Franciscus Wifte. Oxford, 1722, p. 2‘1. 


WAY LAND SMITHES CAVE 


75 


The other side of the Manger is formed by the 
Dragon’s Hill, a curious little round self-confident fellow, 
thrown forward from the range, and utterly unlike every- 
thing round him. On this hill some deliverer of mankind, 
St. George, the country folk used to tell me, killed a 
dragon. Whether it were St. George, I cannot say; 
but surely a dragon was killed there, for you may see 
the marks yet where his blood ran down, and more by 
token the place where it ran down is the easiest way up 
the hillside. 

Passing along the Ridgew^aj to the west for about 
a mile, we come to a little clump of young beech and 
firs, with a growth of thorn and privet underwood. Here 
you may find nests of the strong down partridge and 
peewit, but take care that the keeper isn’t down upon 
you; and in the middle of it is an old cromlech, a huge 
flat stone raised on seven or eight others, and led up 
to by a path, with large single stones set up on each 
side. This is Wayland Smith’s cave, a place of classic 
fame now; but as Sir Walter has touched it, I may as 
well let it alone, and refer ^mu to “Kenilworth” for the 
legend. 

The thick deep wood which you see in the hollow, about 
a mile off, surrounds Ashdowm Park, built by Inigo 
Jones. Four broad alleys are cut through the wmod 
from circumference to center, and each leads to one face 
of the house. The mystery of the downs hangs about 
house and wmod, as they stand there alone, so unlike all 
around, wdth the green slopes, studded with great stones 
just about this part, stretching away on all sides. It 
w^as a wdse Lord Craven, I think, who pitched his tent 
there. 

Passing along the Ridgeway to the east, we soon come 
to cultivated land. The downs, strictly so called, are 
no more; Lincolnshire farmers have been imported, and 


76 


THE BLOWING STONE 


the long fresh slopes are sheep-walks no more, but grow 
famous turnips and barley. One of these improvers lives 
over there at the “Seven Barrows” farm, another 
mystery of the great downs. There are the barrows 
still, solemn and silent, like ships in the calm sea, the 
sepulchers of some sons of men. But of whom.^ It is 
three miles from the White Horse, too far for the slain of 
Ashdown to be buried there — who shall say what heroes 
are waiting there But we must get down into the Vale 
again, and so away by the Great Western Railway to 
town, for time and the printer’s devil press, and it is a 
terrible long and slippery descent, and a shocking bad 
road. At the bottom, however, there is a pleasant public, 
whereat w'e must really take a modest quencher, for the 
down air is provocative of thirst. So we pull up under 
an old oak which stands before the door. 

“ What is the name of your hill, landlord ? ” 

“ Blawing Stwun Hill, sir, to be sure.” 

[Reader. “ Sturm? ” 

Author. Stone, stupid: tbe Blowing Stone.^^1^ 

“And of your house I can’t make out the sign.” 

“ Blawing Stwun, sir,” says the landlord, pouring 
out his old ale from a Toby Philpot jug, with a melo- 
dious crash, into the long-necked glass. 

“What queer names!” say we, sighing at the end 
of our draught, and holding out the glass to be 
replenished. 

“ Be’ant queer at all, as I can see, sir,” says mine host, 
handing back our glass, “seeing as this here is the 
Blawing Stwun his self,” putting his hand on a square 
lump of stone, some three feet and a half high, 
perforated with two or three queer holes, like petrified 
antediluvian rat-holes, which lies there close under the 
oak, under our very nose. We are more than ever 
puzzled, and drink our second glass of ale, wondering 


KINGS TONE LISLE 


77 


what will come next. “Like to hear un, sir.^” says 
mine host, setting down Toby Philpot on the tray, and 
resting both hands on the “ Stwun.” We are ready for 
an^^thing; and he, without waiting for a reply, applies 
his mouth to one of the rat-holes. Something must 
come of it, if he doesn’t burst. Good heavens! I hope 
he has no apoplectic tendencies. Yes, here it comes, 
sure enough, a grewsome sound between a moan and a 
roar, and spreads itself away over the valley, and up 
the hillside, and into the woods at the back of the house, 
a ghost-like awful voice. “Um do say, sir,” says mine 
host, rising purple-faced, while the moan is still coming 
out of the Stwun, “ as they used in old times to warn 
the country-side, by blawing the Stwun when the enemy 
was a-comin ’ — and as how folks could make un heered 
then for seven mile round; leastways, so I’ve heered 
lawyer Smith say, and he knows a smart sight about 
them old times.” We can hardly swallow lawyer Smith’s 
seven miles, but could the blowing of the stone have been 
a summons, a sort of sending the fiery cross round the 
neighborhood in the old times? What old times? Who 
knows? We pay for our beer, and are thankful. 

“And what’s the name of the village just below, land- 
lord?” 

“ Kingstone Lisle, sir.” 

“ Fine plantations you’ve got here ? ” 

“Yes, sir, the Squire’s ’mazin’ fond of trees and such 
like.” 

“No wonder. He’s got some real beauties to be fond 
of. Good-day, landlord.” 

“ Good-day, sir, and a pleasant ride to ’e.” 

And now, my boys, you whom I want to get for 
readers, have you had enough? Will you give in at 
once, and say you’re convinced, and let me begin my 
story, or will you have more of it? Remember, I’ve 


78 


FABRINGBON AND PUSEY 


only been over a little bit of the hillside yet, what you 
could ride round easily on your ponies in an hour. I’m 
only just come down into the Vale, by Blowing Stone 
Hill, and if I once begin about the Vale, what’s to stop 
me.^ You’ll have to hear all about Wantage, the birth- 
place of Alfred, and Farringdon which held out so long 
for Charles the First, (the Vale was near Oxford, and 
dreadfully malignant; full of Throgmortons, Puseys, 
and Pyes, and such like, and their brawny retainers). 
Did you ever read Thomas Ingoldsby’s “Legend of 
Hamilton Tighe?” If you haven’t, you ought to have. 
Well, Farringdon is Avhere he lived, before he went to 
sea; his real name was Hamden Pye, and the Pyes were 
the great folk at Farringdon. Then there’s Pusey. 
You’ve heard of the Pusey horn, which King Canute 
gave to the Puseys of that day, and which the gallant 
old Squire, lately gone to his rest (whom Berkshire 
freeholders turned out of last Parliament, to their eternal 
disgrace, for voting according to his conscience), used 
to bring out on high days, holidays, and bonfire nights. 
And the splendid old Cross church at Uffington, the 
Uffingas town; — how the whole country-side teems with 
Saxon names and memories ! And the old moated grange 
at Compton, nestled close under the hillside, where 
twenty Marianas may have lived, with its bright water- 
lilies in the moat, and its yew walk, “ the Cloister walk,” 
and its peerless terraced gardens. There they all are, and 
twenty things besides, for those who care about them, 
and have eyes. And these are the sort of things you 
may find, I believe, every one of you, in any common 
English country neighborhood. 

Will you look for them under 3^our own noses, or 
will you not? Well, well; I’ve done what I can to make 
you, and if you will go gadding over half Europe now 
every holiday, I can’t help it. I was born and bred a 


TOM BHOWN^S HOME 


79 


west countryman, thank God! a Wessex man, a citizen 
of the noblest Saxon kingdom of Wessex, a regular 
“ Angular Saxon,” the very soul of me “ adscriptus 
glebae.” There’s nothing like the old country-side for 
me, and no music like the twang of the real old Saxon 
tongue, as one gets it fresh from the veritable chaw in 
the White Horse Vale : and I say with “ Gaarge Ridler,” 
the old west-country yeoman, — 

Throo aall the waarld owld Gaarge would bwoast 

Commend me to merry owld England mwoast: 

While vools gwoes prating vur and nigh, 

We stwops at whum, my dog and I. 

Here at any rate lived and stopped at home Squire 
Brown, J. P. for the county of Berks, in a village near 
the foot of the White Horse range. And here he dealt 
out justice and mercy in a rough way, and begat sons 
and daughters, and hunted the fox, and grumbled at the 
badness of the roads and the times. And his wife dealt 
out stockings, and calico shirts, and smock frocks, and 
comforting drinks to the old folks with the “rheumatiz,” 
and good counsel to all; and kept the coal and clothes 
clubs going, for Yule tide, when the bands of mummers 
came round, dressed out in ribbons and colored paper 
caps, and stamped round the Squire’s kitchen, repeat- 
ing in true sing-song vernacular the legend of St. 
George and his fight, and the ten-pound Doctor, who 
plays his part at healing the Saint, — a relic, I believe, 
of the old middle-age mysteries. It was the first dramatic 
representation which greeted the eyes of little Tom, who 
was brought down into the kitchen by his nurse to witness 
it, at the mature age of three years. Tom was the eldest 
child of his parents, and from his earliest babyhood 
exhibited the family characteristics in great strength. 
He was a hearty strong boy from the first, given to 


80 


SQUIRE BROWN AND HIS HOUSEHOLD 


fighting with and escaping from his nurse, and frater- 
nizing with all the village boys, with whom he made 
expeditions all round the neighborhood. And here in 
tJie quiet old-fashioned country village, under the shadow 
of the everlasting hills, Tom Brown was reared, and 
never left it till he went first to school when nearly eight 
years of age, — for in those days change of air twice 
a year was not thought absolutely necessary for the 
health of all her Majesty’s lieges. 

I have behn credibly informed, and am inclined to 
believe, that the various Boards of Directors of Railway 
Companies, those gigantic jobbers and bribers, while 
quarreling about everything else, agreed together some 
ten years back to buy up the learned profession of 
Medicine, body and soul. To this end they set apart 
several millions of money, which they continually 
distribute judiciously amongst the Doctors, stipulating 
only this one thing, that they shall prescribe change of 
air to every patient who can pay, or borrow money to 
pay, a railway fare, and see their prescription carried 
out. If it be not for this, why is it that none of us 
can be well at home for a year together.^ It wasn’t 
so twenty years ago, — not a bit of it. The Browns 
didn’t go out of the county once in five years. A visit 
to Reading or Abingdon twice a year, at Assizes 'or 
Quarter Sessions, which the Squire made on his horse 
with a pair of saddle-bags containing his wardrobe, — a 
stay of a day or two at some country neighbor’s, — or 
an expedition to a county ball, or the yeomanry review, 
— made up the sum of the Brown locomotion in most 
years. A stray Brown from some distant county 
dropped in every now and then; or from Oxford, on 
grave nag, an old don, contemporary of the Squire; 
and were looked upon by the Brown household and the 
villagers with the same sort of feeling with which we now 


TOM BROWN W18HETH TO MOVE ON 


81 


regard a man who has crossed the Rocky Mountains, 
or launched a boat on the Great Lake in Central Africa. 
The White Horse Vale, remember, was traversed by no 
great road ; nothing but country parish roads, and these 
very bad. Only one coach ran there, and this one only 
from Wantage to London, so that the western part 
of the A^ale was without regular means of moving on, 
and certainly didn’t seem to want them. There was 
the canal, by the way, which supplied the country-sid(' 
with coal, and up and down which continually went the 
long barges, with the big black men lounging by the 
side of the horses along the towdng-path, and the women 
in bright colored handkerchiefs standing in the sterns 
steering. Standing I say, but you could never see 
whether they were standing or sitting, all but their heads 
and shoulders being out of sight in the cozy little cabins 
wdiich occupied some eight feet of the stern, and which 
Tom Brown pictured to himself as the most desirable 
of residences. His nurse told him that those good- 
natured looking women w^re in the constant habit of 
enticing children into the barges and taking them up 
to London and selling them, which Tom wouldn’t believe, 
and which made him resolve as soon as possible to accept 
the oft-proffered invitation of these sirens to ‘‘young 
Master” to come in and have a ride. But as yet the 
nurse was too much for Tom. 

Yet why should I after all abuse the gadabout pro- 
pensities of my countrymen ? We are a vagabond nation 
now, that’s certain, for better for worse. I am a vaga- 
bond ; I have been aw'ay from home no less than five 
distinct times in the last year. The Queen sets us the 
example — we are moving on from top to bottom. Little 
dirty Jack, who abides in Clement’s Inn gatew^ay, and 
blacks my boots for a penny, takes his montli-’s hop- 
picking every year as a matter of course. Why shouldn’t 


82 


TEE OLD BOY APFBOVETE MOVING ON 


he ? I’m delighted at it. I love vagabonds, only I prefer 
poor to rich ones ; — couriers and ladies’ maids, imperials 
and traveling carriages, are an abomination unto me — 
I cannot away with them. But for dirty Jack, and every 
good fellow who, in the words of the capital French song, 
moves about, — 

Comme le- limagon, 

Portant tout son bagage, 

Ses meubles, sa maison, 

on his own back, why, good luck to them, and many a 
merry roadside adventure, and steaming supper in the 
chimney-corners of roadside inns, Swiss chMets, Hot- 
tentot kraals, or wherever else they like to go. So having 
succeeded in contradicting myself in my first chapter, 
(which gives me great hopes that you will all go on, 
and think me a good fellow notwithstanding my crot- 
chets,) r shall here shut up for the present, and consider 
my ways; having resolved to “sar’ it out,” as we say 
in the Vale, “holus-bolus” just as it comes, and then 
you’ll probably get the truth out of me. 


CHAPTER II 


THE YEAST 

And the King commandeth and forbiddeth, that from hence- 
forth neither fairs nor markets be kept in Church-yards, for the 
honour of the Church. — Statutes : 13 Edw. I. Stat. il cap. vi. 

As that venerable and learned poet (whose voluminous 
works we all think it the correct thing to admire and talk 
about, but don’t read often ) most truly says, “ The child 
is father to the man;” a fortiori^ therefore, he must be 
father to the boy. So, as we are going at any rate to 
see Tom Brown through his boyhood, supposing we never 
get any further, (which, if you show a proper sense of 
the value of this history, there is no knowing but what 
we may,) let us have a look at the life and environments 
of the child, in the quiet country village to which we 
were introduced in the last chapter. 

Tom, as has been already said, was a robust and com- 
bative urchin, and at the age of four began to struggle 
against the yoke and authority of his nurse. That 
functionary was a good-hearted, tearful, scatter-brained 
girl, lately taken by Tom’s mother, Madam Brown, as 
she was called, from the village school to be trained as 
nursery-maid. Madam Brown w as a rare trainer of serv- 
ants, and spent herself freely in the profession; for 
profession it w'as, and gave lier more trouble by half 
than many people take to earn a good income. Her 
serv^ants were known and sought after for miles round. 
Almost all the girls who attained a certain place in the 
village school w^ere taken by her, one or tw^o at a time, 

• 83 


84 


TOM BBOWN’S NURSE 


as liouse-inaids, Jaundry-iiiaitls, nursery-maids, or kitclien- 
maids, and after a year or two’s drilling were started 
in life amongst the neighboring families, with good 
principles and wardrobes. One of the residts of this 
system was the perpetual despair of Mrs. Brown’s cook 
and own maid, who no sooner had a notable girl made 
to their hands than Missus was sure to find a good place 
for her and send her off, taking in fresh importations 
from the school. Another was, that the house was always 
full of young girls, with clean shining faces; who broke 
plates and scorched linen, but made an atmosphere of 
cheerful homely life about the place, good for every 
one who came within its influence. Mrs. Brown loved 
young people, and in fact human creatures in general, 
above plates and linen. They were more like a lot of 
elder children than servants, and felt to her more as a 
mother or aunt than as a mistress. 

Tom’s nurse was one who took in her instruction very 
slowly, — she seemed to have two left hands and no head; 
and so Mrs. Brown kept her on longer than usual, that 
she might expend her awkwardness and 'forgetfulness 
upon those who would not judge and punish her too 
strictly for them. 

Charity Lamb was her name. It had been the im- 
memorial habit of the village to christen children either 
by Bible names, or b}^ those of the cardinal and other 
Aurtues; so that one was forever hearing in the village 
street, or on the green, shrill sounds of ‘‘ Prudence ! 
Prudence! thee cum’ out o’ the gutter;” or, ‘‘Mercy! 
d’rat the girl, what bist thee a-doln’ wi’ little Faith ” 
and there were Ruths, Rachels, Keziahs, in every corner. 
'ITe same with the boys; they were Benjamins, Jacobs, 
Noahs, Enochs. I suppose the custom has come down 
from Puritan times — there it is at any rate, very strong 
still in tlie ^'^de. 


TOM BBOWN’S FIBST REBELLION 


85 


Well, from early morn till dewy eve, when she had 
it out of him in the cold tub before putting him to bed, 
Charity and Tom were pitted against one another. 
Physical power was as yet on the side of Charity, but 
she hadn’t a chance with him wherever head-work was 
wanted. This war of independence began every morn- 
ing before breakfast, when Charity escorted her charge 
to a neighboring farmhouse which supplied the Browns, 
and where, by his mother’s wish. Master Tom went to 
drink w^hey, before breakfast. Tom had no sort of objec- 
tion to whey, but he had a decided liking for curds, 
which w'ere forbidden as unwholesome, and there was 
seldom a morning that he did not manage to secure a 
handful of hard curds, in defiance of Charity and of the 
farmer’s wife. The latter good soul w^as a gaunt angular 
woman, who, wdth an old black bonnet on the top of her 
head, the strings dangling about her shoulders, and her 
gown tucked through her pocket-holes, went clattering 
about the dairy, cheese-room, and yard, in high pattens. 
Charity was some sort of niece of the old lady’s, and 
was consequently free of the farmhouse and garden, into 
which she could not resist going for the purposes of 
gossip and flirtation wdth the heir apparent, who was 
a dawdling fellow, never out at work as he ought to 
have been. The moment Charity had found her cousin, 
or any other occupation, Tom would slip aw^ay; and in 
a minute shrill cries would be heard from the dairy, 
“Charity, Charity, thee lazy huzzy, w'here bist.?” and 
Tom would break cover, hands and mouth full of curds, 
and take refuge on the shaky surface of the great muck 
reservoir .in the middle of the yard, disturbing the repose 
of the great pigs. Here he was in safety, as no grown 
person could follow’ without getting over their knees; 
and the luckless Charity, while her aunt scolded her from 
the dairy-door, for being “alius hankering about arter 


86 


TOM BROWN’S CASTLE OF REFUGE 


our Willum, instead of minding Master Tom,” would 
descend from threats to coaxing, to lure Tom out of the 
muck, which was rising over his shoes and would soon tell 
a tale on his stockings, for which she would be sure to 
catch it from Missus’s maid. 

Tom had two abettors in the shape of a couple of 
old boys, Noah and Benjamin by name, who defended 
him from Charity, and expended much time upon his 
education. They were both of them retired servants 
of former generations of the Browns. Noah Crooke was 
a keen dry old man of almost ninety, but still able to 
totter about. He talked to Tom quite as if he w^ere one 
of his own family, and indeed had long completely identi- 
fied the Browns with himself. In some remote age he 
had been the attendant of a Miss Brown, and had con- 
veyed her about the country on a pillion. He had a 
little round picture of the identical gray horse, capari- 
soned wdth the identical pillion, before which he used to 
do a sort of fetich worship, and abuse turnpike-roads and 
carriages. He wore an old full-bottomed wig, the gift 
of some dandy old Brown whom he had valeted in the 
middle of last century, which habiliment Master Tom 
looked upon with considerable respect, not to say fear; 
and indeed his whole feeling toward Noah was strongly 
tainted with awe ; and when the old gentleman was 
gathered to his fathers, Tom’s lamentation over him 
was not unaccompanied by a certain joy at having seen 
the last of the wig: ‘‘Poor old Noah, dead and gone,” 
said he; “Tom Brown so sorry! Put him in the coffin, 
wig and all.” 

But old Benjy was young Master’s real delight and 
refuge. He was a youth by the side of Noah, scarce 
seventy years old. A cheery, humorous, kind-hearted 
old man, full of sixty years of Vale gossip, and of all 
sorts of helpful w^ays for young and old, but above all 


TOM BROWN’S ABETTORS 


87 


for children. It was he who bent the first pin, with 
which Tom extracted his first stickleback out of “Pebbly 
Brook,” the little stream which ran through the village. 
The first stickleback was a splendid fellow, with fabulous 
red and blue gills. Tom kept him in a small basin till 
the day of his death, and became a fisherman from that 
day. Within a month from the taking of the first stickle- 
back, Benjy had carried off our hero to the canal, in 
defiance of Charity, and between them, after a whole 
afternoon’s popjoying, they had caught three or four 
small coarse fish and a perch, averaging perhaps two 
and a half ounces each, which Tom bore home in rapture 
to his mother as a precious gift, and she received like 
a true mother with equal rapture, instructing the cook, 
nevertheless, in a private interview, not to prepare the 
same for the Squire’s dinner. Charity had appealed 
against old Benjy in the meantime, representing the 
dangers of the canal banks ; but Mrs. Brown, seeing the 
boy’s inaptitude for female guidance, had decided in 
Benjy’s favor, and from thenceforth the old man was 
Tom’s dry nurse. And as they sat by the canal watching 
their little green and white float, Benjy w’ould instruct 
him in the doings of deceased Browns. How his grand- 
father, in the early days of the great war, wdien there 
was much distress and crime in the Vale, and the magis- 
trates had been threatened by the mob, 'had ridden in 
with a big stick in his hand, and held the Petty Sessions 
by himself. How his great-uncle, the Rector, had en- 
countered and laid the last ghost, who had frightened 
the old women, male and female, of the parish out of 
their senses, and who turned out to be the blacksmith’s 
apprentice, disguised in drink and a white sheet. It was 
Benjy, too, who saddled Tom’s first pony, and instructed 
him in the mysteries of horsemanship, teaching him to 
throw his weight back and keep his hand low; and who 


88 


TOM BROWN’S ABETTORS 


stood chuckling outside the door of the girls’ school, 
when Tom rode his little Shetland into the cottage and 
round the table, where the old dame and her pupils were 
seated at their work. 

Benjy himself was come of a family distinguished in 
the Vale for their prowess in all athletic games. Some 
half dozen of his brothers and kinsmen had gone to the 
wars, of whom only one had survived to come home, with 
a small pension, and three bullets in different parts of 
hJfe body ; he had shared Benjy’s cottage till his death, 
and had left him his old dragoon’s sword and pistol, 
which hung over the mantelpiece, flanked by a pair of 
heavy single-sticks with which Benjy himself had won 
renown long ago as an old gamester, against the picked 
men of Wiltshire and Soiinersetshire, in many a good 
bout at the revels and pastimes of the country-side. For 
he had been a famous back-sword man in his young days, 
and a good wrestler at elbow and collar. 

Back-swording and wrestling were the most serious 
holiday pursuits of the Vale, — those by which men 
attained fame, — and each village had its champion. I 
suppose that on the whole people were less worked then 
than they are now; at any rate, they seemed to have 
more time and energy for the old pastimes. The great 
times for back-swording came round once a 3mar in each 
village, at the feast. The Vale “ veasts ” were not the 
common statute feasts, but much more ancient business. 
They are literally, so far as one can ascertain, feasts of 
the dedication, i. e.^ they were first established in the 
churchyard on the dtxj on which the village church was 
opened for public worship, which was on the wake or 
festival of the patron Saint, and have been held on the 
same day in every year since that time. 

There was no longer an}" remembrance of win’ the 
“ veast ” iiad been instituted, but nevertheless it had a 


OUE VEAST 


89 


pleasant and almost sacred character of its own. For 
it was then that all the children of the village, wherever 
they were scattered, tried to get home for a holiday to 
visit their fathers and mothers and friends, bringing 
with them their wages or some little gift from up the 
country for the old folk. Perhaps for a day or two 
before, but at any rate on “veast day” and the day 
after, in our village, you might see strapping healthy 
young men and women from all parts of the country 
going round from house to house in their best clothes, 
and finishing up with, a call on Madam Brown, whom 
they would consult as to putting out their earnings to 
the best advantage, or how to expend the same best for 
the benefit of the old folk. Every household, however 
poor, managed to raise a “feast-cake” and bottle of 
ginger or raisin wine, which stood on the cottage table 
ready for all comers, and not unlikely to make them 
remember feast-time, — for feast-cake is very solid, and 
full of huge raisins. Moreover, feast-time was the day 
of reconciliation for the parish. If Job Higgins and 
Noah Freeman hadn’t spoken for the last six months, 
their “ old women ” would be sure to get it patched up 
by that day. And though there w^as a good deal of 
drinking and low vice in the booths of an evening, it 
was pretty w'ell confined to those who would have been 
doing the like, “veast or no veast,” and, on the whole, 
the effect was humanizing and Christian. In fact, the 
only reason why this is not the case still, is that gentle- 
folk and farmers have taken to other amusements, and 
have, as usual, forgotten the poor. They don’t attend 
the feasts themselves, and call them disreputable, w’here- 
upon the steadiest of the poor leave them also, and they 
become what they are called. Class amusements, be they 
for dukes or ploughboys, alwaj^s become nuisances and 
curses to a country. The true charm of cricket and 


90 


APPROACH OF YEAST-DAY 


hunting is, that they are still more or less sociable and 
universal; there’s a place for every man who will come 
and take his part. 

No one in the village enjoyed the approach of “veast 
day ” more than Tom, in the year in which he was taken 
under old Benjy’s tutelage. The feast w^as held in a 
large green field at the lower end of the village. The 
road to Farringdon ran along one side of it, and the 
brook by the side of the road ; and above the brook was 
another large gentle sloping pasture-land, with a foot- 
path running down it from the churchyard; and the old 
church, the originator of all the mirth, towered up with 
its gray walls and lancet windows, overlooking and sanc- 
tioning the whole, though its own share therein had been 
forgotten. At the point where the footpath crossed the 
brook and road, and entered on the field where the feast 
was held, was a long low roadside inn, and on the oppo- 
site side of the field was a large white thatched farm- 
house, where dwelt an old sporting farmer, a great pro- 
moter of the revels. 

Past the old church, and down the footpath, pottered 
the old man and the child hand in hand early on the 
afternoon of the day before the feast, and wandered all^ 
round the ground, which was already being occupied by 
the “ cheap Jacks,” with their green covered carts and 
marvelous assortment of wares, and the booths of more 
legitimate small traders with their tempting arrays of 
fairings and eatables ; . and penny peep-shows and other 
shows, containing pink-eyed ladies, and dwarfs, and boa- 
constrictors, and wild Indians. But the object of most 
interest to Benjy, and of course to his pupil also, was 
the stage of rough planks some four feet high, which 
was being put up by the village carpenter for the back- 
swording and wrestling; and after surveying the whole 
tenderly, old Benjy led his charge away to the roadside 


MOENING OF THE YEAST 


91 


inn, where he ordered a glass of ale and a long pipe for 
himself, and discussed these unwonted luxuries on the 
bench outside in the soft autumn evening with mine host, 
another old servant of the Browns, and speculated with 
him on the likelihood of a good show of old gamesters 
to contend for the morrow’s prizes, and told tales of 
the gallant bouts of forty years back, to which Tom 
listened wdth all his ears and eyes. 

But who shall tell the joy of the next morning, when 
the church bells were ringing a merry peal, and old 
Benjy appeared in the servant’s hall, resplendent in a 
long blue coat and brass buttons, and a pair of old 
yellow' buckskins and top-boots, which he had cleaned 
for and inherited from Tom’s grandfather; a stout 
thorn-stick in his hand, and a nosegay of pinks and 
lavender in his button-hole, and led aw'ay Tom in his 
best clothes, and two new shillings in his breeches- 
pockets.? Those two, at any rate, look like enjoying 
the day’s revel. 

They quicken their pace when they get into the 
churchyard, for already they see the field thronged with 
country folk, the men in clean white smocks or velveteen 
or fustian coats, w'ith rough, plush waist-coats of many 
colors, and the wmmen in the beautiful long scarlet cloak, 
the usual outdoor dress of west-country women in those 
days, and which often descended in families from mother 
to daughter, or in new-fashioned stuff shawds, which, if 
they would but believe it, don’t become them half so 
well. The air resounds with the pipe and tabor, and the 
drums and trumpets of the showmen shouting at the 
doors of their caravans, over which tremendous pictures 
of the w onders to be seen within hang temptingly ; wdiile 
through all rises the shrill “ root-too-too-too ” of Mr. 
Punch, and the unceasing pan-pipe of his satellite. 

‘‘Lawk a’ massey, Mr. Benjamin,” cries a stout 


92 


GOSSIPING PRELIMINARY 


motberl}" woman in a red cloak, as they enter the 
field, “be that you? Well I never! you do look purely. 
And how’s the Squire, and Madam, and the family?” 

• Benjy graciqusly shakes hands with the speaker, who 
has left our village for some years, but has come over 
for Veast-day on a visit to an old gossip — and gently 
indicates the heir apparent of the Browns. 

“ Bless his little heaii: ! I must gi’ un a kiss. Here, 
Susannah, Susannah ! ” cries she, raising herself from 
the embrace, “come and see Mr. Benjamin and young 
Master Tom. You minds our Sukey, Mr. Benjamin, 
she be growed a rare slip of a wench since you seen her, 
tho’ her’ll be sixteen come Martinmas. I do aim to take 
her to see Madam to get her a place.” 

And Sukey comes bouncing away from a knot of old 
school-fellows, and drops a curtsey to Mr. Benjamin. 
And elders come up from all parts to salute Benjy, and 
girls who have been Madam’s pupils to kiss Master Tom. 
And they carry him off to load him with fairings ; and 
he returns to Benjy, his hat and coat covered with 
ribbons, and his pockets crammed with wonderful boxes 
which open upon ever new boxes and boxes, and pop- 
guns and trumpets, and apples, and gilt gingerbread 
from the stall of Angel Heavens, sole vender thereof, 
whose booth groans with kings and queens, and elephants, 
and prancing steeds, all gleaming with gold. There was 
more gold on Angel’s cakes than there is ginger in those 
of this degenerate age. Skilled diggers might yet make 
a fortune in the churchyards of the Vale, by carefully 
washing the dust of the consumers of Angel’s ginger- 
bread. Alas I he is with his namesakes, and his receipts 
have, I fear, died with him. 

And then they inspect the penny peep-show, at least 
Tom does, while old Benjy stands outside and gossips, 
and walks up the steps, and enters the mysterious doors 


THE JINGLING MATCH 


93 


of. the pink-eyed lady, and the Irish Giant, who do not 
by any means come up to their pictures; and the boa 
will not swallow his rabbit, but there the rabbit is wait- 
ing to be swallowed — and what can you expect for 
tuppence.? We are easily pleased in the Vale. Now there 
is a rush of the crowd, and a tinkling bell is heard, and 
shouts of laughter; and Master Tom mounts on Benjy’s 
shoulders and beholds a jingling match in all its glory. 
The games are begun, and this is the opening of them. 
It is a quaint game, immensely amusing to look at, and 
as I don’t know whether it is used in your counties, I 
had better describe it. A large roped ring is made, into 
which are introduced a dozen or so of big boys and young 
men who mean to play; these are carefully blinded and 
turned loose into the ring, and then a man is introduced 
not blindfolded, with a bell hung round his neck, and his 
two hands tied behind him. Of course every time he 
moves the bell must ring, as he has no hand to hold it, 
and so the dozen blindfolded men have to catch him. 
This they cannot always manage if he is a lively fellow, 
but half of them always rush into the arms of the other 
half, or drive their heads together, or tumble over; and 
then the crowd laughs vehemently, and invents nicknames 
for them on the spur of the moment, and they, if they 
be choleric, tear off the handkerchiefs which blind them, 
and not unfrequently pitch into one another, each think- 
ing that the other must have run against him on purpose. 
It is great fun to look at a jingling match certainly, 
and Tom shouts and jumps on old Benjy’s shoulders at 
the sight, until the old man feels weary, and shifts him 
to the strong young shoulders of the groom, who has 
just got down to the fun. 

And now, while they are climbing the pole in another 
part of the field, and muzzling in a flour-tub in another, 
the old farmer whose house, as has been said, overlooks 


94 


STAKES FOE TEE BACK-SW ORBING 


the field, and who is master of the revels, gets up the 
steps on to the stage, and announces to all whom it may 
concern that a half-sovereign in money will be forth- 
coming for the old gamester who breaks most heads; to 
which the Squire and he have added a new hat. 

The amount of the prize is sufficient to stimulate tlic 
men of the immediate neighborhood, but not enough to 
bring any very high talent from a distance; so, after a 
glance or two round, a tall fellow, who is a down shep- 
herd, chucks his hat on to the stage and climbs up the 
steps, looking rather sheepish. The crowd of course 
first cheer, and then chaff as usual as he picks up his hat 
and begins handling the sticks to see which will suit 
him. 

“Wooy, Willum Smith, thee canst plaay wi’ he arra 
daay,” says his companion to the blacksmith’s apprentice, 
a stout young fellow of nineteen or twenty. Willum’s 
sweetheart is in the “veast” somew’here, and has strictly 
enjoined him not to get his head broke at back-swording, 
on pain of her highest displeasure; but as she is not to 
be seen, (the women pretend not to like to see the back- 
sword play, and keep away from the stage,) and as his 
hat is decidedly getting old, he chucks it on to the 
stage, and follows himself, hoping that he wdll only 
have to break other people’s heads, or that after all 
Rachel won’t really mind. 

Then follows the greasy cap lined with fur of a half- 
gypsy, poaching, loafing fellow, wTo travels the Vale 
not for much good, I fancy: — 

Full twenty times was Peter feared 

For once that Peter was respected 

in fact. And then three or four other hats, including 
the glossy castor of Joe Willis, the self-elected and 


AliMS AND ACCOUTEEMENTb 


95 


would-be champion of the neighborhood, a well-to-do 
young butcher of twenty-eight or thereabouts, and a 
great strapping fellow, with his full allowance of bluster. 
This is a capital show of gamesters, considering the 
amount of the prize ; so while they are picking their 
sticks and drawing their lots, I think I must tell you, 
as shortly as I can, how the noble old game of back- 
sword is played; for it is sadly gone out of late, even 
in the Vale, and may be 3 011 have never seen it. 

The^ weapon is a good stout ash-stick with a large 
basket handle, heavier and somewhat shorter than a 
common single-stick. The players are called “ old 
gamesters,” — why, I can’t tell you, — and their object 
is simply to break one another’s heads: for the moment 
that blood runs an inch anywhere above the eyebrow, 
the old gamester to whom it belongs is beaten, and has 
to stop. A very slight blow with the sticks will fetch 
blood, so that it is by no means a punishing pastime, 
if the men don’t play on purpose, and savagely, at the 
body and arms of their adversaries. The old gamester 
going into action only takes off his hat and coat, and 
arms himself with a stick: he then loops the fingers of 
his left hand in a handkerchief or strap which he fastens 
round his left leg, measuring the length, so that when 
he draws it tight with his left elbow in the air, that elbow 
shall just reach as high as his crown. Thus you see, 
so long as he chooses to keep his left elbow up, regard- 
less of cuts, he has a perfect guard for the left side of 
his head. Then he advances his right hand above and 
in front of his head, holding his stick across so that 
its point projects an inch or two over his left elbow, and 
thus his whole head is completely guarded, and he faces 
his man armed in like manner, and they stand some three 
feet apart, often nearer, and feint, and strike, and return 
at one another’s heads, until one cries “hold,” or blood 


96 


JOE AND THE GYPSY 


flows ; in the first case they are allowed a minute’s time, 
and go on again ; in the latter, another pair of game- 
sters are called on. If good men are playing, the quick- 
ness of the returns is marvelous ; you hear the rattle 
like that a boy makes drawing his stick along palings, 
only heavier, and the closeness of the men in action to 
one another gives it a strange interest, and makes a spell 
at back-swording a very noble sight. 

They are all suited now with sticks, and Joe Willis 
and the g3^psy man have drawn the first lot. So the rest 
lean against the rails of the stage, and Joe and the dark 
man meet in the middle, the boards having been strewed 
with sawdust; Joe’s white shirt and spotless drab 
breeches and boots contrasting with the g'ypsy’s coarse 
blue shirt and dirty green velveteen breeches and leather 
gaiters. Joe is evidently turning up his nose at the 
other, and half insulted at having to break his head. 

The gypsy is a tough, active fellow, but not very 
skillful with his weapon, so that Joe’s w' eight and strength 
tell in a minute; he is too heavy metal for him; whack, 
whack, whack, come his blows, breaking down the g3"psy’s 
guard, and threatening to reach his head every moment. 
There it is at last — Blood, blood ! ” shout the spec- 
tators, as a thin stream oozes out slowly from the roots 
of his hair, and the umpire calls to them to stop. The 
gypsy scowls at Joe under his brows in no pleasant 
manner, while Master Joe swaggers about, and makes 
attitudes, and thinks himself, and shows that he thinks 
himself, the greatest man in the field. 

Then follow several stout sets-to between the other 
candidates for the new hat, and at last come the shepherd 
and Willum Smith. This is the crack set-to of the day. 
They are both in famous wind, and there is no crying 
“ hold ; ” the shepherd is an old hand and up to all the 
dodges ; he tries them one after another, and very nearly 


ALAS FOR WILLUM I 


97 


gets at Willum’s head by coming in near, and playing 
over his guard at the half-stick, but somehow Willum 
blunders through, catching the stick on his shoulders, 
neck, sides, every now and then, anywhere but on his 
head, and his returns are heavy and straight, and he is 
the youngest gamester and a favorite in the parish, and 
his gallant stand brings down shouts and cheers, and 
the knowing ones think he’ll win if he keeps steady, and 
Tom on the groom’s shoulder holds his hands together, 
and can hardly breathe for excitement. 

Alas for Willum ! .his sweetheart getting tired of 
female companionship has been hunting the booths to 
see where he can have got to, and now catches sight 
of him on the stage in full combat. She flushes and 
turns pale ; her old aunt catches hold of her, saying, 
“ Bless’ee, child, doan’t’ee go a’nigst it ; ” but she breaks 
away and runs toward the stage, calling his name. 
Willum keeps up his guard stoutly, but glances for a 
moment toward the voice. No guard will do it, Willum, 
without the eye. The shepherd steps round and strikes, 
and the point of his stick just grazes Willum’s forehead, 
fetching off the skin, and flie blood flows, and the umpire 
cries “ hold,” and poor Willum’s chance is up for the 
day. But he takes it very well, and puts on his old hat 
and coat, and goes down to be scolded by his sweetheart, 
and led away out of mischief. Tom hears him say coax- 
ingly as he walks off : — 

"‘Now doan’t’ee, Rachel! I wouldn’t ha’ done it, 
only I wanted surhmut to buy’ee a fairing wi’, and I 
he as vlush o’ money as a twod o’ veathers.” 

“Thee mind what I tells’ee,” rejoins Rachel saucily, 
“and doan’t’ee kep blethering about fairings.” Tom 
resolves in his heart to give Willum the remainder of his 
two slullings after the back-swording. 

Joe Willis has all the luck today. His next bout ends 


98 


A NEW ‘‘OLD GAMKSTEE’’ 


in an easy victory, while the shepherd has a tougli job 
to break his second head; and when Joe and the shepherd 
meet, and the whole circle expect and hope to see him 
get a broken crown, the shepherd slips in the first round 
and falls against the rails, hurting himself so that the 
old farmer will not let him go on, mu-ch as he wdshes to 
try; and that impostor Joe (for he is certainly not the 
best man) struts, and sw’aggers about the stage the con- 
quering gamester, though he hasn’t had five minutes’ 
really trying play. 

Joe takes the new hat in his hand, and puts the money 
into it, and then as if a thought strikes him, and he 
doesn’t think his victory quite acknowledged down below, 
walks to each face of the stage, and looks down, shaking 
the jnoney, and chaffing, as how he’ll stake hat and money 
and another half-sovereign “ agin any gamester as 
hasn’t played already.” Cunning J oe ! he thus gets rid 
of Willum and the shepherd, who is quite fresh again. 

No one seems to like the offer, and the umpire is just 
coming down, w^hen a queer old hat, something like a 
Doctor of Divinity’s shovel, is chucked on to the stage, 
and an elderly quiet man steps out, who has been watch- 
ing the play, saying he should like to cross a stick w i’ 
the prodigalish young chap. 

The crowd cheer and begin to chaff Joe, who turns 
up his nose and sw^aggers across to the sticks. “ Im- 
p’dent old wosbird ! ” says he, “ I’ll break the bald 
head on un to the truth.” 

The old boy is very bald, certainly, and the blood w ill 
show^ fast enough if you can touch him, Joe. 

He takes off his long-flapped coat, and stands up in 
a long-flapped waistcoat, which Sir Roger de Coverley 
might have worn wdien it was new, picks out a stick, and 
is ready for Master Joe, who loses no time, but begins 
his old game, w^hack, whack, whack, trying to break 


JOE OUT OF LUCK 


99 


down the old man’s guard by sheer strength. But it 
won’t do, — he catches every blow close by the basket, 
and though he is rather stiff in his returns, after a 
minute walks Joe about the stage, and is clearly a stanch 
old gamester. Joe now comes in, and making the most 
of his height, tries to get over the old man’s guard at 
half-stick, by which he takes a smart blow in the ribs 
and another on the elbow and nothing more. And now 
he loses wind and begins to puff, and the crow'd laugh : 
“Cry ‘hold,’ Joe — thee’st met thy match!” Instead 
of taking good advice and getting his wind, Joe loses 
his temper, and strikes at the old man’s body. 

“ Blood, blood I ” shout the crowd, “ Joe’s head’s 
broke ! ” 

Who’d have thought it.?^ How did it come.?^ That 
body-blow left Joe’s head unguarded for a moment, and 
with one turn of the wrist the old gentleman has picked 
a neat little bit of skin off the middle of his forehead, 
and though he won’t believe it, and hammers on for three 
more blows despite of the shouts, is then convinced by 
tlie blood trickling into his eye. Poor Joe is sadly crest- 
fallen, and fumbles in his pocket for the other half- 
sovereign, but the old gamester won’t have it. “ Keep 
thy money, man, and gi’s thy hand,” says he, and they 
shake hands; but the old gamester gives the new hat 
to the shepherd, and, soon after, the half-sovereign to 
Willum, who thereout decorates his sweetheart with 
ribbons to his heart’s content. 

“Who can a be.?^” “Wur do a cum from.^” ask 
the crowd. And it soon flies about that the old west- 
country champion, who played a tie with Shaw the Life- 
guardsman at “Vizes” twenty years before, has broken 
Joe Willis’s crown for him. 

How my country fair is spinning out! I see I must 
skip the wrestling, and the boys jumping in sacks, and 


100 


THE BEVELS ABE OVEB 


rolling wheelbarrows blindfolded; and the donkey race, 
and the fight which arose thereout, marring the other- 
wise peaceful “veast;” and the frightened scurrying 
away of the female feast-goers, and descent of Squire 
Brown, summoned by the wife of one of the combatants 
to stop it ; which he wouldn’t start to do till he had got 
on his top-boots. Tom is carried away by old Benjy, 
dog-tired and surfeited with pleasure, as the evening 
comes on and the dancing begins in the booths ; and 
though Willum and Rachel in her new ribbons and many 
another good lad and lass don’t come away just yet, but 
have a good step out, and enjoy it, and get no harm 
thereby, yet we, being sober folk, will just stroll away up 
through the churchyard, and by the old yew-tree; and 
get a quiet dish of tea and a parle with our gossips, as 
the steady ones of our village do, and so to bed. 

That’s the fair true sketch, as far as it goes, of one 
of the larger village feasts in the Vale of Berks, when 
I was a little boy. They are much altered for the worse, 
I am told. I haven’t been at one these twent}’^ years, 
but I have been at the statute fairs in some west-country 
towns, where servants are hired, and greater abomina- 
tions cannot be found. What village feasts have come 
to, I fear, in many cases, may be read in the pages of 
“Yeast,” (though I never saw one so bad — thank 
God!) 

Do you want to know why.^ It is because, as I said 
before, gentlefolk and farmers have left off joining or 
taking an interest in them. They don’t either subscribe 
to the prizes, or go down and enjoy the fun. 

Is this a good or a bad sign? I hardly know. Bad, 
sure enough, if it only arises from the further separa- 
tion of classes consequent on twenty years of buying 
cheap and selling dear, and its accompanying overwork ; 
or because our sons and daughters have their hearts in 


THE OLD BOY MOEALIZETH ON V EASTS 


101 


London Club-life, or so-called Society, instead of in the 
old Lnglish home duties ; because farmers’ sons are 
aping fine gentlemen^ and farmers’ daughters caring 
more to make bad foreign music than good English 
cheeses. Good, perhaps, if it be that the time for the 
old “ veast ” has gone by, that it is no longer the healthy 
sound expression of English country holiday-making; 
that, in fact, we as a nation have got beyond it, and are 
in a transition state, feeling for and soon likely to find 
some better substitute. 

Only I have just got this to say before I quit the 
text. Don’t let reformers of any sort think that they 
are going really to lay hold of the working boys and 
young men of England by any educational grapnel 
whatever which hasn’t some bona fide equivalent for the 
games of the old country “veast” in it; something to 
put in the place of the back-swording and wrestling and 
racing; something to try the muscles of men’s bodies, 
and the endurance of their hearts, and to make them 
rejoice in their strength. In all the new-fangled com- 
prehensive plans w hich I see, this is all left out : and the 
consequence is, that your great ]\lechanics’ Institutes 
•end in intellectual priggism, and your Christian Young 
Men’s Societies in religious Pharisaism. 

Well, well, we must bide our time. Life isn’t all beer 
and skittles, — but beer and skittles, or something better 
of the same sort, must form a good part of every 
Englishman’s education. If I could only drive this into 
the heads of you rising Parliamentary Lords, and young 
swells who “have j^our ways made for you,” as the 
saying is, — you, who frequent palaver houses and West- 
end clubs, waiting always ready to strap yourselves on 
to the back of poor dear old John, as soon as the present 
used-up lot (your fathers and uncles), who sit there on 
the great Parliamentary-majorities’ pack-saddle, and 


102 TBE OLD BOY ADVISETH YOUNG SWELLS 

make belief they’re guiding him with their red-tape 
bridle, tumble, or have to be lifted off! 

I don’t think much of you yet — I wish I could; 
though you do go talking and lecturing up and down 
the country to crowded audiences, and are busy with 
all sorts of philanthropic intellectualism, and circulat- 
ing libraries and museums, and Heaven only knows what 
besides; and try to make us think, through newspaper 
reports, that ^mu are, even as we, of the working classes. ■ 
But, bless your hearts, we “ ain’t so green,” though lots 
of us of all sorts toady you enough certainly, and try 
to make you think so. 

I’ll tell you what to do now: instead of all this trum- 
peting and fuss, which is only the old Parliamentary- 
majority dodge over again — just you go each of you 
(you’ve plenty of time for it, if you’ll only give up 
t'other line,) and quietly make three or four friends, 
real friends, among us. You’ll find a little trouble , in 
getting at the right sort, because such birds don’t come 
lightly to your lure — hut found they may be. Take, 
say, two out of the professions, lawyer, parson, doctor — 
which you will; one out of trade, and three or four out 
of the working classes, tailors, engineers, carpenters,* 
engravers, — there’s plenty of choice. Let them be men 
of your own ages, mind, and ask them to your homes; 
introduce them to your wives, and sisters, and get intro- 
duced to theirs : give them good dinners, and talk to them 
about what is really at tlie bottom of your hearts, and 
box, and run, and row with them, when you have a 
chance. Do all this honestly as man to man, and by the 
time you come to ride old John, you’ll be able to do 
something more than sit on his back, and may feel his 
mouth with some stronger bridle than a red-tape one. 

Ah, if you only would! But you have got too far 
out of the right rut, I fear. Too much over-civilization, 


BUT RATH SMALL ROPE OF THEM 


103 


and the deceitfulness of riches. It is easier for a camel 
to go through the eye of a needle. More’s the pity. I 
never came across but two of you, who could value a 
man wholly and solely for what was in him; who thought 
themselves verily and indeed of the same flesh and blood 
as John Jones the attorney’s clerk, and Bill Smith the 
costermonger, and could act as if they thought so. 


CHAPTER III 


SUNDRY WARS AND . ALLIANCES 

Poor old Benjy ! the “ rlicumatiz ” has much to answer 
for all through English country-sides, but it never 
played a scurvier trick than in laying thee by the heels, 
when thou wast yet in a green old age. The enemy, 
Adiich had long been carrjung on a sort of border war- 
fare, and trying his strength against Benjy’s on the bat- 
tlefield of his hands and legs, now, mustering all his 
forces, began laying siege to the citadel, and overrun- 
ning the whole country. Benjy was seized in the back 
and loins; and though he made strong and brave fight, 
it'* was soon clear enough that all which could be beaten 
of poor old Benjy would have to give in before long. 

It was as much as he could do now, with the help of 
his big stick and frequent stops, to hobble down to the 
canal with Master Tom, and bait his hook for him, and 
sit and watch his angling, telling him quaint old country 
stories ; and when Tom had no sport, and detecting a rat 
some hundred yards or so off along the bank would rush 
off wich Toby, the turnspit terrier, his other faithful 
companion, in bootless pursuit, he might have tumbled 
in and been drowned twenty times over before Benjy 
could have got near him. 

(’heery and unmindful of himself as Benjy was, this 
loss of locomotive power bothered him greatly. He had 
got a new object in his old age, and was just beginning 
to think himself useful again in the world. He feared 
much too lest Master Tom should fall back again into 


104 


BENJT’S DECLINE 


105 


the hands of Charity and the women. So he tried every- 
thing he could think of to get set up. He even went 
an expedition to the dwelling of one of those queer mor- 
tals, who — say what we will, and reason how we will — 
do cure simple people of diseases of one kind or another 
without the aid of physic ; and so get to themselves the 
reputation of using charms, and inspire for themselves 
and their dwellings great respect, not to say fear, 
amongst a simple folk such as the dwellers in the Vale 
of White Horse. Where this power, or whatever else it 
may be, descends upon the shoulders of a man whose 
wa3’^s are not straight, he becomes a nuisance to the 
neighborhood ; a receiver of stolen goods, giver of love- 
potions, and deceiver of silly women ; the avowed enemy 
of law and order, of justices of the peace, head-boroughs, 
and gamekeepers. Sometimes, however, they are of 
quite a different stamp, men who pretend to nothing, 
and are wdth difficulty persuaded to exercise their occult 
arts in the simplest cases. 

Of this latter sort was old farmer iVes, as he was called, 
the “wdse man” to whom Benjy resorted (taking Tom 
with him as usual), in the early spring of the year next 
after the feast described in the last chapter. Why he 
w^as called “farmer” I cannot say,^ unless it be that he 
was the owmer of a cow, a pig or two, and some poultry, 
which he maintained on about an acre of land enclosed 
from the middle of a wild common, on wffiich probably 
his father had squatted before lords of manors looked as 
keenly after their rights as they do now. Here he had 
lived no one knew how long, a solitary man. It was often 
rumored that he was to be turned out and his cottage 
pulled down, but somehow’ it never came to pass ; and his 
pigs and cow went grazing on the common, and his 
geese hissed at the passing children and at the heels of 
the horse of my lord’s steward, who often rode by w’ith 


106 


BENJY EESOBTS TO A WISE MAN ” 


a covetous eye on the enclosure, still unmolested. His 
dwelling was some miles from our village; so Benjy, 
who was half ashamed of his errand, and wholly unable 
to walk there, had to exercise much ingenuity to get the 
means of transporting himself and Tom thither without 
exciting suspicion. However, one fine May morning he 
managed to borrow the old blind pony of our friend the 
publican, and Tom persuaded Madam Brown to give 
him a holiday to spend with old Benjy, and to lend them, 
the Squire’s light cart, stored with bread and cold meat 
and a bottle of ale. And so the two in high glee started 
behind old Dobbin, and jogged along the deep-rutted 
plashy roads, which had not been mended after their 
winter’s wear, toward the dwelling of the wizard. About 
noon they passed the gate which opened on to the large 
common, and old Dobbin toiled slowly up tbe hill, while 
Benjy pointed out a little deep dingle on the left, out of 
which welled a tiny stream. As they crept up the hill 
the tops of a few birch-trees came in sight, and blue 
smoke curling up through their delicate light boughs; 
and then the little white thatched home and patch of 
enclosed ground of farmer Ives, lying cradled in the 
dingle, with the gay gorse common rising behind and 
on both sides; while in fropt, after traversing a gentle 
slope, the eye might travel for miles and miles over the 
rich Vale. They now left the main road and struck into 
a green track over the common marked lightly with 
wheel and horse-shoe, which led down into the dingle 
and stopped at the rough gate of farmer Ives. Here 
they found the farmer, an iron-gray old man, with a 
bushy eyebrow and strong aquiline nose, busied in one of 
his vocations. Pie was a horse and cow doctor, and was 
tending a sick beast which had been sent up to be cured. 
Benjy hailed him as an old friend, and he returned the 
greeting cordially enough, looking, however, hard for 


FAllMEE IVES THE “ WISE MAN 


107 


a moment both at Benjy and Tom, to see whether there 
was more in their visit than appeared at first sight. It 
was a work of some difficulty and danger for Benjy to 
reach the ground, which, however,, he managed to do 
without mishap ; and then he devoted himself to unhar- 
nessing Dobbin, and turning him out for a graze (“a 
run” one could not say of that virtuous steed) on the 
common. This done, he extricated the cold provisions 
from the cart, and they entered the farmer’s wicket; 
and he, shutting up the knife with which he was taking 
maggots out of the cow’s back and sides, accompanied 
them toward the cottage. A big old lurcher got up 
slowly from the door-stone, stretching first one hind leg 
and then the other, and taking Tom’s caresses and the 
presence of Toby, who kept, however, at a respectful 
distance, with equal indifference. 

“ Us be cum to pay’e a visit. I’ve a been long minded 
to do’t for old sake’s sake, only I vinds I dwont get 
about now as I’d used to’t. I be so plaguy bad wi’ th’ 
rheumatiz in my back.” Benjy paused in hopes of 
drawing the farmer at once on the subject of his ail- 
ments without further direct application. 

“ Ah, I see as you bean’t quite so lissom as you was,” 
replied the farmer with a grim smile, as he lifted the 
latch of his door ; “ we bean’t so young as we was, nother 
on us, wuss luck.” 

The farmer’s cottage was very like those of the better 
class of peasantry in general. A snug chimney-corner 
w ith two seats, and a small carpet on the hearth, an old 
flint gun and a pair of spurs over the fireplace, a dresser 
wdth shelves on which some bright pewter plates and 
crockery-ware were arranged, an old w alnut table, a few^ 
chairs and settles, some framed samplers, and an old 
print or two, and a bookcase wdth some dozen volumes on 
the w alls, a rack with flitches of bacon, and other stores 


108 


THE WISE MAN’S ” SUEEOUNDINGS 


fastened to the ceiling, and you have the best part of 
the furniture. No sign of occult art is to be seen, unless 
the bundles of dried herbs hanging to the rack and in 
the ingle, and the row of labelled phials on one of the 
shelves, betoken it. 

Tom played about with some kittens who occupied the 
hearth, and with a goat who walked demurely in at the 
open door, while their host and Benjy spread the table 
for dinner; and was soon engaged in conflict with the 
cold meat, to which he did much honor. The two old 
men’s talk was of old comrades and their deeds, mute 
inglorious Miltons of the Vale, and of the doings thirty 
years back — which didn’t interest him much, except 
when they spoke of the making of the canal, and then 
indeed he began to listen with all his ears ; and learned 
to his no small wonder that his dear and wonderful canal 
had not been there always — was not in fact so old as 
Benjy or farmer Ives, which caused a strange commotion 
in his small brain. 

After dinner Benjy called attention to a wart which 
Tom had on the knuckles of his hand, and which the 
family doctor had been trying his skill on without suc- 
cess, and begged the farmer to charm it away. Farmer 
Ives looked at it, muttered something or another over it, 
and cut some notclies in a short stick, which he handed 
to Benj}", giving him instructions for cutting it down 
on certain days, and cautioning Tom not to meddle 
with the wart for a fortnight. And then they strolled 
out and sat on a bench in the sun with their pipes, and 
the pigs came up and grunted sociably and let Tom 
scratch them; and the farmer, seeing ho>\' he liked ani- 
mals, stood up and held his arms in the air and gave a 
call, which brought a flock of pigeons wheeling and dash- 
ing through the birch-trees. They settled down in clus- 
ters on the farmer’s arms and shoulders, making love to 


M'AKT-CRARMING AM) BIRD-CHARMING 


109 


him jiiid scrambling over one another’s backs to get to 
his face; and then he threw them all off, and they flut- 
tered about close by, and lighted on him again and again 
when he held up his arms. All the creatures about the 
place were clean and fearless, quite unlike their relations 
elsewhere; and Tom begged to be taught how to make 
all the pigs and cows and poultry in our village tame, 
at which the farmer only gave one of his grim chuckles. 

It wasn’t till they were just ready to go, and old 
Dobbin was harnessed, that Benjy broached the subject 
of his rheumatism again, detailing his symptoms one by 
one. Poor old boy ! He hoped the farmer could charm 
it away as easily as he could Tom’s wart, and was ready 
w'ith equal faith to put another notched stick into Ihs 
other pocket, for the cure of his own ailments. The 
physician shook his head, but nevertheless produced a 
bottle and handed it to Benjy with, instructions for use. 
“Not as ’t ’ll do’e much good — leastways I be af eared 
not,” shading his e^'es with his hand and looking up at 
them in the cart; “there’s only one thing as I knows on, 
as ’ll cure old folks like you and I o’ th’ rheumatiz.” 

“Wot be that then, farmer?” inquired Benjy. 

“ Cdiurchyard mold,” said the old iron-gray man with 
anotlier chuckle. And so* they said their good-byes and 
went their ways home. Tom’s wart was gone in a fort- 
night, but not so Benjy’s rheumatism, which laid him by 
the heels more and more. And though Tom still spent 
many an hour with him, as he sat on a bench in the sun- 
shine, or by the chimney-corner when it was cold, he soon 
had to seek elsewhere for his regular companions. 

Tom had been accustomed often to accompany his 
mother in her visits to the cottages, and had thereby 
made acquaintance with many of the village boys of his 
own age. There was Job Rudkin, son of widow Rudkin, 
the most bustling woman in the parish. How she could 


110 


TOM’S ALLIES 


ever have had such a stolid boy as Job for a child must 
always remain a mystery. The first time Tom went to 
their cottage with his mother, Job was not indoors, but 
he entered soon after, and stood with both hands in his 
pockets staring at Tom. Widow Rudkin, who would 
have had to cross Madam to get at young Hopeful, — 
a breach of good manners of which she was wholly 
incapable, — began a series of pantomime signs, which 
only puzzled him, and at last, unable to contain herself 
longer, burst out with, “Job! Job! where’s thy cap.'^” 

“What! bean’t’e on ma’ head, mother.?” replied Job, 
slowly extricating one hand from a pocket and feeling 
for the article in question, which he found on his head 
sure enough, and left there, to his mother’s horror and 
Tom’s great delight. 

Then there was poor Jacob Dodson, the half-witted 
boy, who ambled about cheerfully, undertaking messages 
and little helpful odds and ends for every one, which, 
however, poor Jacob managed always hopelessly to 
embrangle. Everything came to pieces in his hands, 
and nothing would stop in his head. They nicknamed 
him Jacob Doodle-calf. 

But above all, there was Harry Winburn, the quickest 
and best boy in the parish. He might be a year older 
than Tom, but was very little bigger, and he was the 
(h’ichton of our village boys. He could wrestle and 
climb and run better than all the rest, and learned all 
that the school-master could teach him faster than that 
worthy at all liked. He was a boy to be proud of, with 
his curly brown hair, keen gra}^ eye, straight active 
figure, and little ears and hands and feet, “as fine as a 
lord’s,” as Charity remarked to Tom one day, talking 
as usual great nonsense. Lords’ hands and ears and feet 
are just as ugly as other folks’ when the}^ are children, 
as any one may convince themselves if they like to look. 


TORYISM OF SQUIRE BROWN 


111 


Tight boots and gloves, and doing nothing with them, 
I allow make a difference by the time they are twenty. 

Now that Benjy was laid on the shelf, and his young 
brothers were still under petticoat government, Tom, in 
search of companions, began to cultivate the village boys 
generally more and more. Squire Brown, be it said, was 
a true blue Tory to the backbone, and believed honestly 
that the powers which be tv ere ordained of God, and that 
loyalty and steadfast obedience were men’s first duties. 
Whether it were in consequence or in spite of his political 
creed, I do not mean to give an opinion, though I have 
one ; but certain it is, that he held therewith divers social 
principles not generally supposed to be true blue in 
color. Foremost of these, and the one which the Squire 
loved to propound above all others, was the belief that 
a man is to be valued wholly and solely for that which 
he is in himself, for that which stands up in the four 
fleshly walls of him, apart from clothes, rank, fortune, 
and all externals whatsoever. Which belief I take to be 
a wholesome corrective of all political opinions, and, if 
held sincerely, to make all opinions equally harmless, 
whether they be blue, red, or green. As a necessary 
corollary to this belief. Squire Brown held further that 
it didn’t matter a straw whether his son associated with 
lords’ sons or ploughmen’s sons, provided they were 
brave and honest. He himself had played football and 
gone birds’-nesting with tlie farmers whom he met at 
vestry and the laborers wlio tilled their fields, and so had 
his father and grandfather with their progenitors. So 
he encouraged Tom in his intimacy with the boys of the 
village, and forwarded it by all means in his power, and 
gave them the run of a close for a playground, and pro- 
vided bats and balls and a football for their sports. 

Our village was blessed amongst other things with a 
well endowed school. The building stood by itself, apart 


112 


TOM’S WATCR-TOWEE BY THE SCHOOL 


from the master’s house, on an angle of ground where 
three roads met ; an old gray stone building with a steep 
roof and mullioned windows. On one of the opposite 
angles stood Squire Brown’s stables and kennel, with 
their backs to the road, over which towered a great elm- 
tree ; on the third stood the village carpenter and wheel- 
wright’s large open shop, and his house and the school- 
master’s, with long low eaves under which the swallows 
built by scores. 

The moment Tom’s lessons were over, he would now 
get him down to this corner by the stables, and watch till 
the boys came out of school. He prevailed on the groom 
to cut notches for him in the bark of the elm, so that 
he could climb into the lower branches, and there he 
would sit watching the school door, and speculating on 
the possibility of turning the elm into a dwelling-place 
for himself and friends after the manner of the Swiss 
Family Robinson. But the school hours were long and 
Tom’s patience short, so that soon he began to descend 
into the street, and go and peep in at the school door and 
the wheelwright’s shop, and look out for something to 
while away the time. Now the wheelwright was a 
choleric man, and, one fine afternoon, returning from 
a short absence, found Tom occupied with one of his 
pet adzes, the edge of which was fast vanishing under 
our hero’s care. A speedy flight saved Tom from all 
but one sound cuff on the ears, but he resented this 
unjustifiable interruption of his first essays at carpen- 
tering, and still more the further proceedings of the 
wheehvright, who cut a switch and hung it over the 
door of his workshop, threatening to use it upon Tom 
if he came within twenty yards of his gate. So Tom, 
to retaliate, commenced a war upon the sw^allows who 
dwelt under the wheelwright’s eaves, whom he harassed 
with sticks and stones, and being fleeter of foot than 


TOM’S FOES — THE WHEELWRIGHT, ETC. 


113 


his enemy, escaped all punishment, and kept him in 
perpetual anger. Moreover, his presence about tlie 
school door began to incense the master as the boys in 
that neighborhood neglected their lessons in consequence : 
and more than once he issued into the porch, rod in 
hand, just as Tom beat a hasty retreat. And he and 
the wheelwright, laying their heads together, resolved to 
acquaint the Squire with Tom’s afternoon occupations ; 
but in order to do it with effect, determined to take him 
captive and lead him away to judgment fresh from his 
evil-doings. This they would have found some difficulty 
in doing, had Tom continued the war single-handed, or 
rather single-footed, for he would have taken to the 
deepest part of Pebbly Brook to escape them; but, like 
other active powers, he was ruined by his alliances. Poor 
Jacob Doodle-calf could not go to school with the other 
boys, and one fine afternoon, about three o’clock (the 
school broke up at four), Tom found him ambling about 
the street, and pressed him into a visit to the school 
porch. Jacob, always teady to do what he was asked, 
consented, and the two stole down to the school together. 
Tom first reconnoitered the wheelwright’s shop, and see- 
ing no signs of activity, thought all safe in that quarter, 
and ordered at once an advance of all his troops upon the 
school porch. The door of the school was ajar, and the 
boys seated on the nearest bench at once recognized and 
opened a correspondence with the invaders. Tom, wax- 
ing bold, kept putting his head into the school and mak- 
ing faces at the master when his back was turned. Poor 
Jacob, not in the least comprehending the situation, and 
in high glee at finding himself so near the school, which 
he had never been allowed to enter, suddenly, in a fit of 
enthusiasm, pushed by Tom, and ambling three steps 
into the school, stood there, looking round him and nod- 
ding with a self-approving smile. The master, who was 


114 


DEFEAT, CAPTUBE, PEACE 


stooping over a boy’s slate, with his back to the door, 
became aware of something unusual, and turned quickly 
round. Tom rushed at Jacob, and began dragging him 
back by his smock frock, and the master made at them, 
scattering forms and boys in his career. Even now they 
might have escaped, but that in the porch, barring 
retreat, appeared the crafty wheelwright, who had been 
watching all their proceedings. So they were seized, 
the school dismissed, and Tom and Jacob led away to 
Squire Brown as lawful prize, the boys following to the 
gate in groups, and speculating on the result. 

The Squire was very 'angry at first, but the interview, 
by Tom’s pleading, ended in a compromise. Tom was 
not to go near the school till three o’clock, and only 
then if he had done his own lessons well, in which case 
he was to be the bearer of a note to the master from 
Squire Brown, and the master agreed in such case to 
release ten or twelve of the best boys an hour before 
fhe time of breaking up, to go off and play in the close. 
The wheelwright’s adzes and swallows were to be forever 
respected ; and that hero and the master withdrew to the 
servants’ hall, to drink the Squire’s health, well satisfied 
with their day’s work. 

The second act of Tom’s life may now be said to have 
begun. The war of independence had been over for 
some time : none of the women now, not even his mother’s 
maid, dared offer to help him in dressing or washing. 
Between ourselves, he had often at first to run to Benjy 
in an unfinished state of toilet; Charity and the rest of 
them seemed to take a delight in putting impossible but- 
tons and ties in the middle of his back ; but he would 
have gone without nether integuments altogether, sooner 
than have had recourse to female valeting. He had a 
room to himself, and his father gave him sixpence a 
week pocket-money. All this he had achieved by Benjy’s 


PLAY AND WOBK 


115 


advice and assistance. But now he had conquered another 
step in life, the step which all real boys so long to make ; 
he had got amongst his equals in age and strength, and 
could measure himself with other boys; he lived with 
those whose pursuits and wishes and ways were the same 
in kind as his own. 

The little governess who had lately been installed in 
the house found her work grow wondrously easy, for 
Tom slaved at his lessons in order to make sure of his 
note to the school-master. So there were very few days 
in the week in which Tom and the village boys were 
not playing in their close by three o’clock. Prisoner’s 
base, rounders, high-cock-a-lorum, cricket, football, he 
was soon initiated into the delights of them all; and 
though most of the boys were older than himself, he 
managed to hold his own very well. He was naturally 
active and strong, and quick of eye and hand, and had 
the advantage of light shoes and well-fitting dress, so 
that in a short time he could run and jump and climb 
with any of them. 

They generally finished their regular games half an 
hour or so before tea-time, and then began trials of skill 
and strength in many ways. Some of them would catch 
the Shetland pony who was turned out in the field, and 
get two or three together on his back, and the little 
rogue, enjoying the fun, w’ould gallop off for fifty yards 
and then turn round, or stop short and shoot them on to 
the turf, and then graze quietly on till he felt another 
load; others played peg-top or marbles, while a few' of 
the bigger ones stood up for a bout at wrestling. Tom 
at first only looked on at this pastime, but it had peculiar 
attractions for him, and he could not long keep out of it. 
Elbow' and collar wrestling, as practiced in the w'estern 
counties, was, next to back-sw'ording, the way to .fame 
for the youth of the Vale; and all the boys knew' the 


116 


HIDING AND WEE ST LING 


rules of it, and were more or less expert. But Job Rud- 
kin and Harry Winburn were the stars, the former stiff 
and sturdy, with legs like small towers, the latter pliant 
as india-rubber, and quick as lightning. Day after day 
they stood foot to foot, and offered first one hand and 
, then the other, and grappled and dosed and swayed and 
strained, till a well-aimed crook of the heel or thrust of 
tlie loin took effect, and a fair back-fall ended the mat- 
ter. And Tom watched with all his eyes, and first chal- 
lenged one of the less scientific, and threw him ; and so 
one by one wrestled his way up to the leaders. 

Then, indeed, for months he had a poor time of it; 
it was not long indeed before he could manage to keep 
his legs against Job, for that hero was slow of offence, 
and gained his victories chiefly by allowing others to 
throw themselves against his immovable legs and loins. 
But Harr}" Winburn was undeniabl}^ his master; from 
the first clutch of hands when they stood up, down to the 
last trip which sent him on to his back on the turf, he 
felt that Harry knew more and could do more than he. 
Luckily, Harry’s bright unconsciousness and Tom’s 
natural good temper kept them from ever quarreling; 
and so Tom worked on and on, and trod more and more 
nearly on Harry’s heels, and at last mastered all the 
dodges and falls, except one. This one was Harry’s 
own particular invention and pet ; he scarcely ever used 
it except when hard pressed, but then out it came, and 
jis sure as it did, over went .poor Tom. He thought 
about that fall at his meals, in his walks, when he lay 
awake in bed, in his dreams — but all to no purpose; 
until Harry one day in his open way suggested to him 
how he thought it should be met, and in a week from 
that time the bo3"s were equal, save only the slight differ- 
ence of strength in Harry’s favor, which some extra ten 
montlis rf <‘igc gave. '^Tom had often afterwards reason 


EARLIEST FLAY MATES 


117 


to be thankful for that early drilling, and above all for 
having mastered Harry Win burn’s fall. 

Besides their home games, on Saturdays the boys 
would wander all over tlie neighborhood; sometimes to 
the downs, Or up to the camp, where they cut their 
initials out in the springy turf, and watched the hawks 
soaring, and the “ peert ” bird, as Harry Winburn 
called the gray plover, gorgeous in his wedding feathers ; 
and so home, racing down the Manger with many a roll 
among the thistles, or through Uffington-wood to watch 
the f ox cubs playing in the green rides ; sometimes to 
Rosy Brook, to cut long whispering reeds which grew 
there, to make pan-pipes of ; sometimes to Moor Mills, 
where was a piece of old forest land, with short browsed 
turf and tufted brambly thickets stretching under the 
oaks, amongst which rumor declared that a raven, last 
of his race, still lingered ; or to the sand-hills, in vain 
quest of rabbits; and birds’-nesting, in the season, any- 
where and everywhere. 

The few neighbors of the Squire’s own rank every 
now and then would shrug their shoulders as they drove 
or rode by a party of boys with Tom in the middle, 
carrying along bulrushes or whispering reeds, or great 
bundles of cowslip and meadow-sweet, or young starlings 
or magpies, or other spoil of wood, brook, or meadow ; 
and Lawyer Red-tape might mutter to Squire Straight- 
back at the Board, that no good would come of the 
3^oung Browns, if they were let run wild with all the 
dirtv village boys, wdiom the best farmers’ sons even 
would not play with. And the Squire might reply with 
a shake of his head, that his sons only mixed with their 
equals, and' never went into the village without the gov- 
erness or a footman. But, luckily. Squire Brown was 
full as stiff-backed as his neighbors, and so went on his 
own way; and Tom and his younger brothers, as they 


118 


EAELIEST PLAYMATES 


grew up, went on playing with the village boys, without 
the idea of equality or inequality (except in wrestling, 
running, and climbing) ever entering their heads, -as it 
doesn’t till it’s put there by Jack Nasty s or fine ladies’ 
maids. 

I don’t mean to say it would be the case in all villages, 
but it certainly was so in this one ; the village boys were 
full as manly and honest, and certainly purer than those 
in a higher rank; and Tom got more harm from his 
equals in his first fortnight at a private school, where he 
Avent wdien he was nine years old, than he had from his 
village friends from the day he left Charity’s apron- 
strings. 

Great was the grief amongst the village school-boys 
when Tom drove off wdth the Squire, one August morn- 
ing, to meet the coach on his Avay to school. Each of 
them had given him some little present of the best that 
he had, and his small private box Avas full of peg-tops, 
w'hite marbles (called “ alley-taAA^s ” in the Vale), screAV’S, 
birds’ eggs, AA^hip-cord, jeAvs-harps, and other miscel- 
laneous boys’ AA'ealth. Poor Jacob Doodle-calf, in floods 
of tears, had pressed upon him AAuth spluttering earnest- 
ness his lame pet hedgehog (he had alAA^ays some poor 
broken-doAAn heast or bird by him) ; but this Tom had 
been obliged to refuse by the Squire’s order. He had 
given them all a great tea under the big elm in their 
playground, for Avhich Madam BroAvn had supplied the 
biggest cake ever seen in our village ; and Tom AA^as really 
as sorry to leave them as they to lose him, but his sorroAV 
was not unmixed AA’ith the pride and excitement of mak- 
ing a neAv step in life. 

And this feeling carried him through his first part- 
ing with his mother better than could have been expected. 
Their loA^e was as fair and whole as human loA^e can be, 
perfect self-sacrifice on the one side, meeting a young 


FIUST SCHOOL 


119 


and true heart on the other. It is not within the scope 
of my book, however, to speak of family relations, or I 
should have much to say on the subject of English 
mothers, — ay, and of English fathers, and sisters, and 
brothers, too. 

Neither have I room to speak of our private schools : 
what I have to say is about public schools, those much 
abused and much belauded institutions peculiar to Eng- 
land. So we must hurry through Master Tom’s year at 
a private school as fast as we can. 

It was a fair average specimen, kept by a gentleman, 
with another gentleman as second master; but it was lit- 
tle enough of the real work they did — merely coming 
into school when lessons were prepared and all ready to 
be heard. The whole discipline of the school out of 
lesson hours was in the hands of the two ushers, one of 
whom was always with the boys in their playground, in 
the school, at meals — in fact, at all times and every- 
where, till they were fairl}^ in bed at night. 

Now the theory of private schools is (or was) con- 
stant supervision out of school ; therein differing funda- 
mentally from that of public schools. 

It may be right or wrong; but if right, this super- 
vision surely ought to be the especial work of the head- 
master, the responsible person. The object of all schools 
is not to ram Latin and Greek into boys, but to make 
them good English boys, good future citizens; and by 
far the most important part of that work must be done, 
or not done, out of school hours. To leave it, therefore, 
in the hands of inferior men is just giving up the highest 
and hardest part of the work of education. Were I a 
private school-master, I should say, let who will hear the 
boys tbeir lessons, but let me live with them when they 
are at play and rest. 

The two ushers at Tom’s first school were not gentle- 


120 


TOM’S FIRST LETTER HOME 


men, and very poorly educated, and were only driving 
their poor trade of usher to get such living as they 
could out of it. They were not bad men, but had little 
heart for their work, and of course were bent on mak- 
ing it as easy as possible. One of the methods by which 
they endeavored to accomplish this was by encouraging 
tale-bearing, which had become a frightfully common 
vice in the school in consequence, and had sapped all the 
foundations of school morality. Another was, by favor- 
ing grossly the biggest boys, who alone could have given 
them much trouble ; whereby those young gentlemen 
became most abominable tyrants, oppressing the little 
boys in all the small mean ways which prevail in private 
schools. 

Poor little Tom was made dreadfully unhappy in his 
first week by a catastrophe which happened to his first 
letter home. Witli huge labor he had, on the very even- 
ing of his arrival, managed to fill two sides of a sheet 
of letter-paper with assurances of his love for dear 
mamma, his happiness at school, and his resolves to do 
all she would wish. This missive, with the help of the 
hoy who sat at the desk next him, also a new arrival, he 
managed to fold successfully; but this done, they were 
sadly put to it for means of sealing. Envelopes were 
then unknown, they had no wax, and dared not disturb 
the stillness of the evening school room by getting up 
and going to ask the usher for some. At length Tom’s 
friend, being of an ingenious turn of mind, suggested 
sealing with ink, and the letter was accordingly, stuck 
down with a blob of ink, and duly handed by Tom, on 
his way to bed, to the housekeeper to be posted. It was 
not till four days afterwards that that good dame sent 
for him, and produced the precious letter, and some wax, 
saying, “Oh, Master Brown, I forgot to tell you before, 
but your letter isn’t sealed.” Poor Tom took the wax 


“ MAMMY-SICK ” AND ITS EESULTS 


121 


in silence and sealed his letter, with a huge lump rising 
in his throat during the process, and then ran away to a 
quiet corner of the playground, and burst into an agori}^ 
of tears. The idea of his mother waiting day after da}^ 
for the letter he had promised her at once, and perhaps 
tln'nking him forgetful of her, when he had done all in 
his power to make good his promise, was as bitter a grief 
as an}'^ which he had to undergo for many a long 3’^ear. 
His wrath then was proportionately violent when he 
was aware of two boys, who stopped close by him, and 
one of whom, a fat gaby of a fellow, pointed at him 
and called him “Young mammy-sick!” Whereupon 
Tom arose, and giving vent thus to his grief and shame 
and rage, smote his derider on the nose, and made it bleed 
— which sent that young worthy howling to the usher, 
who reported Tom for violent and unprovoked assault 
and battery. Hitting in the face was a felony punish- 
able with flogging, other hitting only a misdemeanor — 
a distinction not altogether clear in principle. Tom, 
however, escaped the penalty b}^ pleading “ primum 
tempus ; ” and having written a second letter to his 
mother, enclosing some forget-me-nots, which he picked 
on their first half-holiday walk, felt quite happy again, 
and began to enjoy vastly a good deal of his new life. 

These half-holiday walks were the great events of the 
week. The whole fifty boys started after dinner with 
one of the ushers for Hazeldown, which was distant some 
mile or so from the school. Hazeldown measured some 
three miles round, and in the neighborhood were several 
woods full of all manner of birds and butterflies. The 
usher walked slowly round the down with such boys as 
liked to accompany him ; the rest scattered in all direc- 
tions, being only bound to appear again when the usher 
had completed his round, and accompany him home. 
They Avere forbidden, however, to go anywhere except 


122 


THE AMUSEMENTS 


on the down and into the woods, tlie village being espe- 
cially prohibited, where huge bulls’-eyes, and unctuous 
toffy might be procured in exchange for coin of the 
realm. 

Various were the amusements to which the boys then 
betook themselves. At the entrance of the down there 
was a steep hillock, like the barrows of Tom’s own downs. 
This mound was the weekly scene of terrific combats, at 
a game called by the queer name of “ mud-patties.” The 
boys who played divided into sides under different 
leaders, and one side occupied the mound. Then, all 
parties having provided themselves with many sods of 
turf, cut with their bread-and-cheese knives, the side 
which remained at the bottom proceeded to assault the 
mound, advancing up on all sides under cover of a heavy 
fire of turfs, and then struggling for victory with the 
occupants, which was theirs as soon as they could, even 
for a moment, clear the summit, when they in turn 
became the besieged. It was a good rough dirty game, 
and of great use in counteracting the sneaking tendencies 
of the school. Then others of the boys spread over 
the downs, looking for the holes of humble-bees and 
mice, which they dug up without merefy, often (I regret 
to say) killing and skinning the unlucky mice, and (I 
do not regret to say) getting well stung by the humble- 
bees. Others went after butterflies and birds’ eggs in 
their seasons; and Tom found on Hazeldown, for the 
first time, the beautiful little blue butterfly with golden 
spots on his wings, which he had never seen on his own 
downs, and dug out his first sand-martin’s nest. This 
latter achievement resulted in a flogging, for the ^and- 
martins built in a high bank close to the village, conse- 
quently out of bounds; but one of the bolder spirits of 
the school, who never could be happy unless he was doing 
something to which risk attached, easily persuaded Tom 


TEE 11 EF 110 BATE 


12a 


to break bounds and visit the martin’s bank. From 
'^vhence it being only a step to the toffy shop, what could 
be more simple than to go on there and fill their pockets ; 
or what more certain than that on their return, a dis- 
tribution of treasure having been made, the usher should 
shortly detect the forbidden smell of bulls’-eyes, and, a 
search ensuing, discover the state of the breeches-pockets 
of Tom and his ally.? 

This ally of Tom’s was indeed a desperate hero in the 
sight of the boys, and feared as one who dealt in magic, 
or something approaching thereto, which reputation 
came to him in this wise. The boys went to bed at eight, 
and of course consequently lay awake in the dark for 
an hour or two, telling ghost-storied by turns. One night 
when it came to his turn, and he had dried up their souls 
by his story, he suddenly declared that he would make 
a fiery hand appear on the door; and, to the astonish- 
ment and terror of the boys in his room, a hand, or some- 
thing like it, in pale light, did then and there appear. 
The fame of this exploit having spread to the other 
rooms, and being discredited there, the young necro- 
mancer declared that the same wonder would appear in 
all the rooms in turn, which it accordingly did ; and the 
whole circumstances having been privately reported to 
one of the ushers as usual, that functionary, after listen- 
ing about at the doors of the rooms, by a sudden descent 
caught the performer in his night-shirt, with a box of 
phosphorus in his guilty hand. Lucifer matches and all 
the present facilities for getting acquainted with fire 
were then unknown; the very name of phosphorus had 
something diabolic in it to the boy-mind ; so Tom’s ally, 
at the cost of a sound flogging, earned what many older 
folk covet much — the very decided fear of most of his 
companions. 

He was a remarkable boy, and by no means a bad 


124 


TOM PREPARES FOR RUGBY 


01 ) e. Tom stuck to him till he left, and got into many 
scrapes by so doing. But he was the great opponent of 
the tale-bearing habits of the school, and the open enemy 
of the ushers; and so worthy of all support. 

Tom imbibed a fair amount of Latin and Greek at 
the school, but somehow on the whole it didn’t suit him, 
or he it, and in the holidays he was constantly working 
the Squire to send him at once to a public school. Great 
was his joy then, when in the middle of his third half- 
year, in October, 183-, a fever broke out in the village, 
and the master having himself slightly sickened of it, 
the whole of the boys were sent off at a day’s notice to 
their respective homes. 

The Squire was not quite so pleased as Master Tom 
to see that young gentleman’s brown merry , face appear 
at home, some two months before the proper time, for 
Christmas holidays ; and so after putting on his thinking 
cap, he retired to his study and wrote several letters, the 
result of which was, that one morning at the breakfast- 
table, about a fortnight after Tom’s return, he addressed 
his wife with — “My dear, I have arranged that Tom 
shall go to Rugby at once, for the last six weeks of this 
half-year, instead of wasting them, riding and loitering 
about home. It is very kind of the Doctor to allow it. 
Will you see that his things arc all ready by Friday, 
when I shall take him up to town, and send him down the 
next day by himself.” 

Mrs. Brown was prepared for the announcement, and 
merely suggested a doubt whether Tom were yet old 
enough to travel by himself. However, finding both 
father and son against her on this point, she gave in 
like a wise woman, and proceeded to prepare Tom’s kit 
for his launch into a public school. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE STAGE-COACH 

Let the steam-pot hiss till it’s hot, 

Give me the speed of the Tantivy trot. 

Coaching Song by B. E. E. Warburton, Esq. 

“Now, sir, time to get up, if you please. Tally-ho 
coach for Leicester ’ll be round in half an hour, and 
don’t wait for nobodj^” So spake the Boots of the 
Peacock Inn, Islington, at half-past two o’clock on the 
morning of a day in the early part of November, 183-, 
giving Tom at the same time a shake by the shoulder, 
and then putting down a candle and carrying off his 
shoes to clean. 

Tom and his father had arrived in town from Berk- 
shire the day before, and finding, on inquiry, that the 
Birmingham coaches which ran from the city did not 
pass through Rugb}^, but deposited their passengers at 
Dunchurch, a village three miles distant on the main 
road, where said passengers had to wait for the Oxford 
and Leicester coach in the evening, or to take a post- 
chaise — had resolved that Tom should travel down by 
the Tally-ho, wLich diverged from the main road and 
passed through Rugby itself. And as the Tally-ho 
was an early coach, they had driven out to the Peacock 
to be on the road. 

Tom had never been in London, and would have liked 
to stop at the Belle Savage, where they had been put 
down by the Star, just at dusk, that he might have gone 

125 


126 


THE PEACOCK, ISLINGTON 


roving about those endless, mysterious, gas-lit streets, 
which, with their glare and hum and moving crowds, 
excited him so that he couldn’t talk even. But as soon 
as he found that the Peacock arrangement would get him 
to Rugby by twelve o’clock in the day, wdiereas other- 
wise he wouldn’t be there till the evening, all other plans 
melted away; his one absorbing aim being to become 
a public-school boy as fast as possible, and six hours 
sooner or later seeming to him of the most alarming 
importance. 

Tom and his father had alighted at the Peacock, at 
about seven in the evening; and having heard with 
unfeigned joy the paternal order at the bar, of steaks 
and oyster-sauce for supper in half an hour, and seen 
his father seated cozily by the bright fire in the coffee- 
room with the paper in his hand — Tom had run out 
to see about him, had wondered at all the vehicles pass- 
ing And repassing, and had fraternized with the boots 
and ostler, from whom he ascertained that the Tally-1 lo 
was a tip-top goer, ten miles an hour, including stop- 
pages, and so punctual that all the road set their clocks 
b}’ her. 

Then being summoned to supper, he had regaled him- 
self, in one of the bright little boxes of the Peacock 
coffee-room on the beefsteak and unlimited oyster-sauce, 
and brown stout (tasted then for the first time — a day 
to be marked forever by Tom with a white stone) ; had 
at first attended to the excellent advice which his father 
was bestowing on him from over his glass of steaming 
brandy and w^ater, and then begun nodding, from the 
united effects of the stout, the fire, and the lecture; till 
the Squire observing Tom’s state, and remembering that 
it was nearly nine o’clock, and that the Tally-ho left at 
three, sent the little fellow off to the chambermaid, wdth 
a shake of the hand (Tom having stipulated in the morn- 


SQUIBB BROWN’S FARTING JVORDS 


127 


ing before starting that kissing should now cease between 
them) and a few parting words. 

‘‘ And now, Torn, mj boy,” said the Squire, “ remem- 
ber you are going, at your own earnest request, to be 
chucked into this great school, like a young bear with 
all your troubles before 3mu — earlier than we should 
have sent you, perhaps. If schools are what they were 
in my time, you’ll see a great many cruel blackguard 
things done, and hear a deal of foul bad talk. But never 
fear. You tell the truth, keep a brave and kind heart, 
and never listen to or sa^^ anything you wouldn’t have 
your mother and sister hear, and you’ll never feel 
ashamed to come home, or we to see you.” 

The allusion to his mother made Tom feel rather 
chokey, and he would have liked to hug his father well, 
if it hadn’t been for the recent stipulation. 

As it was, he only squeezed his father’s hand, and 
looked bravely up and said, “ I’ll try, father.” 

“ I know you will, my boy. Is your money all safe.^ ” 

“Yes,” said Tom, diving into one pocket to make sure. 

“ And your ke^^s ? ” said the Squire. 

“All right,” said Tom, diving into the other pocket. 

“Well, then, good-night. God bless ^mu! I’ll tell 
Boots to call 3mu, and be up to see you off.” 

Tom was carried off by the chambermaid in a brown 
study, from which he was roused in a clean little attic by 
that buxom person calling him a little darling, and kiss- 
ing him as she left the room ; which indignity he was too 
much surprised to resent. And still thinking of his 
father’s last words, and the look with which they were 
spoken, he knelt down and prayed, that come what 
might, he might never bring shame or sorrow on the 
dear folk at home. 

Indeed, the Squire’s last words deserved to have their 
effect, for they had been the result of much anxious 


128 


THE SQUIEE’S MEDITATIONS 


thought. All the way up to London he had pondered 
what he should say to Tom b}' wa^^ of parting advice ; 
something that the boy could keep in his head ready for 
use. way of assisting meditation, he had even gone 
the length of taking out his flint and steel, and tinder, 
and hammering away for a quarter of an hour till he 
had manufactured a light for a long Trichinopoli 
cheroot, which he silently puffed; to the no small wonder 
of coachee, who was an old friend, and an institution on 
the Bath road; and who always expected a talk on the 
prospects and doings, agricultural and social, of the 
whole county when he carried the Squire. 

To condense the Squire’s meditation, it was somewhat 
as follows: “ I won’t tell him to read his Bible, and love 
and serve God ; if he don’t do that for his mother’s sake 
and teaching, he won’t for mine. Shall I go into the 
sort of temptations he’ll meet wdth.^ No, I can’t do that. 
Never do for an old fellow to go into such things with 
a boy. He Avon’t understand me. Do him more harm 
tlian good, ten to one. Shall I tell him to mind bis Avork, 
and say he’s sent to school to make himself a good 
scholar? Well, but he isn’t sent to school for that — at 
any rate, not for that mainly. I don’t care a straAV for 
Greek particles, or the digamma, no more does his 
mother. What is he sent to school for? Well, partly 
because he Avanted so to go. If he’ll only turn out a 
braA^e, helpful, truth-telling Englishman, and a gentle- 
man, and a Christian, that’s all I Avant,” thought the 
Squire; and upon this vicAv of the case, framed his last 
Avords of adAnce to Tom, AA^ich Avere Avell enough suited 
to his purpose. 

For they were Tom’s first thoughts as he tumbled 
out of bed at the summons of Boots, and proceeded 
rapidly to Avash and dress himself. At ten minutes to 
three he Av^as doAvn in the coffee-room in his stockings, 


THE TALLY-HO 


129 


carrying his hat-box, coat, and comforter in his hand; 
and there he found his father nursing a bright fire, and a 
cup of hot coffee and a hard biscuit on the table. 

“ Now, then, Tom, give us your things here, and drink 
this; there’s nothing like starting warm, old fellow.” 

Tom addressed himself to the coffee, and prattled 
away while he worked himself into his shoes and his great 
coat, well warmed through ; a Petersham coat with vel- 
vet collar, made tight after the abominable fashion of 
those days. And just as he is swallowing his last mouth- 
ful, winding his comforter round his throat, and tucking 
the ends into the breast of his coat, the horn sounds. 
Boots looks in and says, “ Tally-ho, sir ; ” and they hear 
the ring and the rattle of the four fast trotters and the 
town-made drag, as it dashes up to the Peacock. 

“ Anything for us. Bob.? ” says the burly guard, drop- 
ping down from behind, and slapping himself across the 
chest. 

“Young genl’m’n, Rugby; three parcels, Leicester; 
hamper o’ game, Rugby,” answers ostler. 

“ Tell young gent to look alive,” says guard, opening 
the hind-boot and shooting in the parcels after examin- 
ing them by the lamps. “ Here, shove the portmanteau 
up a-top — I’ll fasten diim presently. Now then, sir, 
jump up behind.” 

“Good-bye, father — my love at home.” A last shake 
of the hand. Up goes^ Tom, the guard catching his 
hat-box and holding on with one hand, while with the 
other he claps the horn to his mouth. Toot, toot, toot ! 
the ostlers let go their heads, the four bays plunge at the 
collar, and away goes the Tally-ho into the darkness, 
forty-five seconds from the time they pulled up; Ostler, 
Boots, and the Squire stand looking after them under the 
Peacock lamp. 

“ Sharp work ! ” says the Squire, and goes in again to 


130 


DEGENEEACY OF THESE BAYS 


his bed, the coach being well out of sight and hearing. 

Tom stands up on the coach and looks back at his 
father’s figure as long as he can see it, and then the 
guard having disposed of his luggage comes to an 
anchor, and finishes his buttonings and other prepara- 
tions for facing the three hours before dawm ; no joke 
for those who minded cold, on a fast coach in November, 
in the reign of his late Majesty. 

I sometimes think that you boys of this generation 
are a deal tenderer fellows than we used to be. At any 
rate, you’re much more comfortable travelers, for I see 
every one of you with his rug or plaid, and other dodges 
for preserving the caloric, and most of you going in 
those fuzzy, dusty, padded first-class carriages. It was 
another affair altogether, a dark ride on the top of the 
Tally-ho, I can tell you, in a tight Petersham coat, and 
your feet dangling six inches from the floor. Then y;ou 
knew^ what cold was, and what it was to be without legs, 
for not a bit of feeling had you in them after the first 
half-hour. But it had its pleasures, the old dark ride. 
First there Avas the consciousness of silent endurance, so 
dear to every Englishman, — of standing out against 
something, and not giving in. Then there were the 
music of the rattling harness, and the ring of the horses’ 
feet oh the hard road, and the glare of the two bright 
lamps through the steaming hoar frost, over the leaders’ 
ears, into the darkness ; and the cheery toot of the 
guard’s horn, to w’arn some drows}^ pikeman or the ostler 
at the next change; and the looking forward to daylight 
— and last, but not least, the delight of returning sensa- 
tion in your toes. 

Then the break of dawn and the sunrise, w^here can 
they be ever seen in perfection but from a coach-roof? 
You Avant motion and change and music to see them in 
their glory ; not the music of singing men and singing 


A NOVEMBEB BIDE IN OLD TIME 


131 


women, but good silent music, which sets itself in jour 
own head, the accompaniment of work and getting over 
the ground. 

The Tallj-ho is past St. Alban’s, and Tom is enjoy- 
ing the ride, though half-frozen. The guard, who is 
alone with him on the back of the coach, is silent, but 
has muffled Tom’s feet up in straw, and put the end of 
an oat-sack over his knees. The darkness has driven him 
inwards, and he has gone over his little past life, and 
thought of all his doings and promises, and of his mother 
and sister, and his father’s last words; and has made 
fifty good resolutions, and means to bear himself like a 
brave Brown as he is, though a young one. Then he 
has been forward into the mysterious boy-future, specu- 
lating as to what sort of a place Rugby is, and what 
they do there, and calling up all the stories of public 
schools which he has heard from big boys in the holidays. 
He is chock full of hope and life, notwithstanding the 
cold, and kicks his heels against the back board, and 
would like to sing, only he doesn’t know how his friend 
the silent guard might take it. 

And now the dawn breaks at the end of the fourth 
stage, and the coach pulls up at a little roadside inn 
with huge stables behind. There is a bright fire gleam- 
ing through the red curtains of the bar-window, and the 
door is open. The coachman catches his whip into a 
double thong, and throws it to the ostler; the steam of 
the horses^rises straight up into the air. He has put 
them along over the last two miles, and is two minutes 
before his time; he rolls down from the box and into the 
inn. The guard rolls off behind. ‘‘Now, sir,” says he 
to Tom, “you just jump down, and I’ll give you a drop 
of something to keep the cold out.” 

Tom finds a difficulty in jumping, or indeed in find- 
ing the top of the wheel with his feet, which may be in 


132 


MO BN IN G SIGHTS AND DOINGS 


the next world for all he feels; so the guard picks him 
off the coach-top, and sets him on his legs, and they 
stump off into the bar, and join the coachman and the 
other outside passengers. 

Here a fresh-looking barmaid serves them each with 
a glass of early purl as they stand before the fire, coach- 
man and guard exchanging business remarks. The purl 
warms the cockles of Tom’s heart, and makes him cough. 

“Rare tackle, that, sir, of a cold morning,” says the 
coachman, smiling; “Time’s up.” They are out again 
and up ; coachee the last, gathering the reins into his 
hands and talking to Jem the ostler about the mare’s 
shoulder, and then swinging himself up on to the box — 
the horses dashing off in a canter before he falls into his 
seat. Toot-toot-tootle-too goes the horn, and away they 
are again, five-and-thirty miles on their road (nearly 
half-way to Rugby, thinks Tom), and the prospect of 
breakfast at the end of the stage. 

And now they begin to see, and the early life of the 
country-side comes out; a market cart or two, men in 
smock frocks going to their work, pipe in mouth, a whiff 
of which is no bad smell this bright morning. The sun 
gets up, and the mist shines like silver gauze. They 
pass the hounds jogging along to a distant meet, at the 
heels of the huntsman’s hack, wdiose face is about the 
color of the tails of his old pink, as he exchanges greet- 
ings wdth coachman and guard. Now they pull up at a 
lodge, and take on board a well muffled up sportsman, 
with his gun-case and carpet-bag. An early up-coach 
meets them, and the coachmen gather up their horses, 
and pass one another with the accustomed lift of the 
elbow', each team doing eleven miles an hour, with a 
mile to spare behind if necessary. And here comes break- 
fast. 

“ Tw^ent}’’ minutes here, gentlemen,” says the coach- 


BREAKFAST 


133 


man, as they pull up at half-past seven at the inn-door. 

Have we not endured nobly this morning, and is not 
this a worthy reward for much endurance.^ There is 
the low dark wainscoted room hung with sporting prints ; 
the hat-stand (with a whip or two standing up in it, 
belonging to bagmen who are still snug in bed) by the 
door ; the blazing fire, with the quaint old glass over the 
mantelpiece, in which is stuck a large card with the list 
of the meets for the week of the county hounds. The 
table covered with the whitest of cloths and of china, and 
bearing a pigeon pie, ham, round of cold boiled beef cut 
from a mammoth ox, and the great loaf of household 
bread on a wooden trencher. And here comes in the 
stout head waiter puffing under a tray of hot viands ; 
kidneys and a steak, transparent rashers and poached 
eggs, buttered toast and muffins, coffee and tea, all 
smoking hot. The table can never hold it all; the cold 
meats are removed to the sideboard, they were only put 
on for show, and to give us an appetite. And now fall 
on, gentlemen all. It is a well-known sporting-house, 
and the breakfasts are famous. Two or three men in 
pink, on their way to the meet, drop in, and are very 
jovial and sharp-set, as indeed we all are. 

‘‘Tea or coffee, sir.?” says head waiter, coming round 
to Tom. 

“ Coffee, please,” says Tom, with his mouth full of 
muffin and kidney ; coffee is a treat to him, tea is not. 

Our coachman, I perceive, who breakfasts with us, is 
a cold beef man. He also eschews hot potations, and 
addicts himself to a tankard of ale, which is brought 
him by the barmaid. Sportsman looks on approvingly, 
and orders a ditto for himself. 

Tom has eaten kidney and pigeon pie, and imbibed 
coffee, till his little skin is as tight as a drum; and then 
has the further pleasure of paying head waiter out of 


134 


PUTTING-TO AGAIN 


his own purse, in a dignified manner, and walks out 
before the inn-door to see the horses put to. This is 
done leisurely and in a highl}^ finished manner by the 
ostlers, as if they enjoyed the not being hurried. Coach- 
man comes out with his Avay-bill and puffing a fat cigar 
which the sportsman has given him. Guard emerges 
from the tap, where he prefers breakfasting, licking 
round a tough-looking doubtful cheroot, which you 
might tie round your finger, and three whiffs of which 
would knock any one else out of time. 

The pinks stand about the inn-door lighting cigars 
and waiting to see us start, while their hacks are led 
up and down the market-place on which the inn looks. 
They all know our sportsman, and we feel a reflected 
credit when we see him chatting and laughing with them. 

“ Now, sir, please,” says the coachman ; all the rest 
of the passengers are up ; the guard is locking the hind- 
boot. 

“A good run to you!” says the sportsman to the 
pinks, and is by the coachman’s side in no time. 

“Let ’em go, Dick!” The ostlers fly back, drawing 
oflT the cloths from their glossy loins, and away we go 
through the market-place and down the High Street, 
looking in at the first-floor window's, and seeing several 
worthy burgesses shaving thereat; while all the shop- 
boys who are cleaning the wdndow's, and housemaids who 
are doing the steps, stop and look pleased as we rattle 
past, as if we were a part of their legitimate morning’s 
amusement. We clear the town, and are w'ell out betw’een 
the hedgerows again as the towm clock strikes eight. 

The sun shines almost warmly, and breakfast has oiled 
all springs and loosened all tongues. Tom is encour- 
aged by a remark or tw'o of the guard’s between the 
puffs of his oily cheroot, and besides is getting tired of 
not talking. He is too full of his destination to talk 


GUAIW BI SCO V USES ON RUGBY 


135 


about anything else; and so asks the guard if he knows 
llugbj. 

“ Goes througli it every day of my life. Twenty min- 
utes afore twelve down — ten o’clock up.” 

"‘What sort of a place is it, please.?” says Tom. 

Guard looks at him with a comical expression. 

Werry out-o-the-way place, sir ; no paving to streets, 
nor no lighting. ’Mazin’ big horse and cattle fair in 
autumn — lasts a week — just over now. Takes town a 
week to get clean after it. Fairish hunting country. 
But slow place, sir, slow place : off the main road, you 
see — only three coaches a day, and one on ’em a two-oss 
wan, more like a hearse nor a coach — Regulator — 
comes from Oxford. Young genl’m’n at school calls her 
Pig and Whistle, and goes up to college by her (six miles 
an hour) when thej’^ goes to enter. Belong to school, 
sir.? ” 

“Yes,” says Tom, not unwilling -for a moment that 
the guard should think him an old boy. But then hav- 
ing some qualms as to the truth of the assertion, and 
seeing that if he were to assume the character of an old 
boy he couldn’t go on asking the questions he wanted, 
added — “ that is to say, I’m on my way there. I’m 
a new boy.” 

The guard looked as if he knew this quite as well 
as Tom. 

“ You’re- werry late, sir,” says the guard; “only six 
weeks today to the end of the half.” Tom assented. 
“ We takes up fine loads this day six weeks, and Monday 
and Tuesday arter. Hopes we shall have the pleasure 
of carrying you back.” 

Tom said he hoped they would; but he thought within 
himself that his fate would probably be the Pig and 
Whistle. 

“It pays uncommon cert’nly,” continues the guard. 


136 


PEA-SHOOTEBS 


“Werry free with their cash is the young genl’m’n. 
But, Lor’ bless J'^ou, we gets into such rows all ’long the 
road, what wi’ their pea-shooters, and long whips, and 
hollering, and upsetting every one as comes by ; I’d a 
sight sooner carry one or two on ’em sir, as I may be a 
carryin’ of you now, than a coach-load.” 

“What do they do with the pea-shooters.?^” inquires 
Tom. 

“Do wi’ ’em! why, peppers every one’s faces as we 
comes near, ’cept the young gals, and breaks windows 
Avi’ them, too, some on ’em shoots so hard. Now ’t was 
just here last June, as we was a driving up the first-day 
boys, the}'^ AA^as mendin’ a quarter mile of road, and there 
Avas a lot of Irish chaps, reg’lar roughs, a breaking 
stones. As Ave comes up, ‘ Now, boys,’ says young gent 
on the box (smart young fellow and desper’t reckless), 
Miere’s fun! let the Pats have it about the ears.’ ‘God’s 
sake, sir!’ says Bob (that’s my mate the coachman), 
‘ don’t go for to shoot at ’em, they’ll knock us off the 
coach.’ ‘Damme, Coachee,’ says young my lord, ‘you 
ain’t afraid; hoora, boys! let ’em have it.’ ‘Hoora!’ 
sings out the others, and fill their mouths chock full of 
peas to last the whole line. Bob seeing as ’t was to come, 
knocks his hat over his eyes, hollers to his ’osses, and 
shakes ’em up, and away we goes up to the line on ’em, 
twenty miles an hour. The Pats begin to hoora, too, 
thinking it was a runaway, and first lot on ’em stands 
grinnin’ and wavin’ their old hats as W’e comes abreast 
on ’em; and then 3mu’d ha’ laughed to see how took 
aback and choking savage they looked, when they gets 
the peas a stinging all over ’em. But bless you, the 
laugh weren’t all on our side, sir, by a long way. We 
Avas going so fast, and they was so took aback, that they 
didn’t take what was up till Ave Avas half-way up the line. 
Then ’t was, ‘ look out all,’ surely. They howls all down 


BATTLE WITH THE BATS 


137 


the line fit to frighten you, some on ’em runs arter us 
and tries to clamber up behind, only we hits ’em over 
the fingers and pulls their hands off ; one as had had 
it very sharp act’ly runs right at the leaders, as though 
he’d ketch ’em by the heads, only luck’ly for him he 
misses his tip, and comes over a heap o’ stones first. The 
rest picks up stones, and gives it us right away till we 
gets out of shot, the young gents holding out werry 
manful with the pea-shooters and such stones as lodged 
on us, and a pretty man3'^ there was, too. Then Bob 
picks hisself up again, and looks at young gent on box 
werry solemn. Bob ’d had a rum un in the ribs, which ’d 
like to ha’ knocked him off the box, or made him drop the 
reins. Young gent on box picks hisself up, and so does 
we all, and looks round to count damage. Box’s head 
cut open and his hat gone ; ’nother ^mung gent’s hat 
gone; mine knocked in at the side, and not one on us as 
wasn’t black and blue somewheres or another, most on 
’em all over. Two pound ten to pay for damage to 
paint, wdiich they subscribed for there and then, and 
give Bob and me a extra half-sovereign each; but I 
wouldn’t go down that line again not for twenty half- 
sovereigns.” And the guard shook his head slowly, and 
got up and blew a clear brisk toot, toot. 

“What fun!” said Tom, who could scarcely contain 
his pride at this exploit of his future school-fellows. He 
longed already for the end of the half, that he might 
join them. 

“ ’T ain’t such good fun, though, sir, for the folk as 
meets the coach, nor for we w^ho has to go back with it 
next day. Them Irishers last summer had all got stones 
ready for us, and was all but letting drive, and w^e’d 
got two reverend gents aboard, too. We pulled up at 
the beginning of the line, and pacified them, and we’re 
never going to carr^’^ no more pea-shooters, unless they 


138 , 


THE OLD YEOMAN 


promises not to fire where tliere’s a line of Irish chaps a 
sto!ie-l)reaking.” The guard stopped and pulled away 
at his cheroot, regarding Tom benignantly the while. 

“ Oh, don’t stop ! tell us something more about the 
pea-shooting.” 

‘^Well, there’d like to have been a pretty piece of 
work over it at Bicester, a while back. We was six mile 
from the town, when we meets an old square-headed 
gray-haired 3moinan chap, a jogging along quite quiet. 
He looks up at tjie coach, and just then a pea hits him 
on the nose, and some catches his cob bebind and makes 
him dance up on his hind legs. I see’d the old boy’s face 
flush and look plagu}’ awkward, and I thought we was in 
for somethin’ nasty. 

“ He turns his cob’s head, and rides quietly’ after us 
just out of shot. How that ’ere cob did step! we never 
shook him off not a dozen yards in the six miles. At 
first the young gents was werr}^ livel}'^ on him; but afore 
we got in, seeing how steady the old chap come on, the^^ 
was quite quiet, and laid their heads together what the^^ 
should do. Some was for fighting, some for axing his 
pardon. He rides into the town close after us, comes up 
when we stops, and says the two as shot at him must 
come before a magistrate ; and a great crowd comes 
round, and we couldn’t get the osses to. But the young 
uns they all stand b}’ one another, and says all or none 
must go, and as how the^^’d fight it out, and have to be 
carried. Just as ’twas gettin’ serious, and the old boy 
and the mob w^as going to pull ’em off the coach, one lit- 
tle fellow jumps up and saj’s, ‘Here, — I’ll sta3^ — I’m 
only going three miles further. My father’s name’s 
Davis, he’s known about here, and I’ll go before the 
magistrate with this gentleman.’ ‘ What ! be thee parson 
Davis’ son?’ says the old boy. ‘Yes,’ sa3's the 3mung 
un. ‘Well, I be mortal sorry to meet thee in such corn- 


BLOW-HAED AND HIS YARNS 


139 


panj, but for thy father’s sake and thine (for thee bi’st 
a brave young chap) I’ll say no more about it.’ Didn’t 
the boys cheer him, and the mob cheered the young chap 
— and then one of the biggest gets down, and begs his 
pardon werry gentlemanly for all the rest, saying as they 
all had been plaguy vexed from the first, but didn’t like 
to ax his pardon till then, ’cause they felt they hadn’t 
ought to shirk the consequences of their joke. And then 
they all got down, and shpok hands with the old boy, and 
asked him to all parts of the country, to their homes, 
and we drives off twenty minutes behind time, with cheer- 
ing and hollering as if w’e was county members. But, 
Lor’ bless you, sir,” says the guard, smacking his hand 
down on his knee and looking full into Tom’s face, “ten 
minutes arter they was all as bad as ever.” 

Tom showed such ilndisguised and open-mouthed 
interest in his narrations, that the old guard rubbed up 
his memory, and launched out into a graphic history of 
all the performances of the boys on the roads for the 
last twenty years. Off the road he couldn’t go ; the 
exploit must have been connected with horses or vehicles 
to hanff in the old fellow’s head. Tom tried him off his 
own ground once or twice, but found he knew nothing 
beyond, and so let him have his head, and the rest of the 
road bowled easily away ; for old Blow-hard (as the boys 
called him) was a dry old file, with much kindness and 
humor, and a capital spinner of a yarn when he had 
broken the neck of his day’s work, and got plenty of ale 
under his belt. 

What struck Tom’s youthful imagin^^tion most was 
the desperate and lawless character of most of the stories. 
Was the guard hoaxing him.^ He couldn’t help hoping 
that they were true. It’s very odd how almost all Engll.Nh 
bovs love danger; you can get ten to join a game, or 
climb a tree, or swim a stream, when there’s a chance 


140 


THE liUNNEBS 


of breaking their limbs or getting drowned, for one 
Avho’ll stay on level ground, or in his depth, or play 
quoits or bowls. 

The guard had just finished an account of a desperate 
fight which had happened at one of the fairs between 
the drovers and the farmers wdth their whips, and the 
boys with cricket-bats and wickets, which arose out of a 
playful but objectionable practice of the boys going 
round to the public-houses and taking the linchpins out 
of the wheels of the gigs, and was moralizing upon the 
way in which the Doctor, “ a terrible stern man he’d 
heard tell,” had come dowm upon several of the per- 
formers, “sending three on ’em off next morning, each 
in a po-chay with a parish constable,” when they turned 
a comer and neared the milestone, the third from Rugby. 
By the stone two boys stood, their jackets buttoned tight, 
waiting for the coach. 

“ Look here, sir,” says the guard, after giving a sharp 
toot-toot, “ there’s twm on ’em, out and out runners they 
be. They comes out about twice or three times a week, 
and spirts a mile alongside of us.” 

And as they came up, sure enough, away went the 
two boys along the footpath, keeping up with the horses ; 
the first a light clean-made fellow going on springs, the 
other stout and round-shouldered, laboring in his pace, 
but going as dogged as a bull-terrier. 

Old Blow'-hard looked on admiringly. “ See how beau- 
tiful that there un holds hisself together, and goes from 
his hips, sir,” said he; “he’s a ’mazin’ fine runner. Now^ 
many coachmen as drives a first-rate team’d put it on, 
and try and pass ’em. But Bob, sir, bless you, he’s ten- 
der-hearted : he’d sooner pull in a bit if he see’d ’em a 
gettin’ beat. I do b’lieve too as that there un’d sooner 
break his heart than let us go by him afore next mile- 
stone.” 


141 


TOM DELIGHTED WITH HIS JOURNEY 

At the second milestone the boys pulled up short, and 
waved their hats to the guard, who had his watch out 
and shouted “4.56,” thereby indicating that the mile 
had been done in four seconds under the five minutes. 
They passed several more parties of boys, all of them 
objects of the deepest interest to Tom, and came in sight 
of the town at ten minutes before twelve. Tom fetched 
a long breath, and thought he had never spent a pleas- 
anter day. Before he went to bed he had quite settled 
that it must be the greatest day he should ever spend, 
and didn’t alter his opinion for many a long year — if 
he has yet. 


CHAPTER V 


KUGBY AND FOOTBALL 

— Foot and eye opposed 
In dubious strife. 

Scott. 

“And so here’s Rugby, sir, at last, and you’ll be 
in plenty of time for dinner at the School-house, as I 
tell’d you,” said the old guard, pulling his horn out 
of its case, and tootle-tooing away ; while the coachman 
shook up his horses, and carried them along the side of 
the school close, round Dead-man’s corner, past the 
school gates, and down the High Street to the Spread 
Eagle ; the wheelers in a spanking trot, and leaders can- 
tering, in a style which would not have disgraced “ Cherry 
Bob,” “ramping, stamping, tearing, swearing Billy 
Harwood,” or any other of the old coaching heroes. 

Tom’s heart beat quick as he passed the great school 
field or close, with its noble elms, in which several games 
at football were going on, and tried to take in at once 
the long line of gray, buildings, beginning with the 
chapel, and ending with the School-house, the residence 
of the head-master, where the great flag ^ lazily waving 
from the highest round tower. And he began already to 
be proud of being a Rugb}" bo3% as he passed the school 
gates, with the oriel-window above, and saw the boys 
standing there, looking as if the town belonged to them, 
and nodding in a familiar manner to the coachman, as 
if any one of them would be quite equal to getting on the 
box, and working the team down street as w^ell as he. 


142 


TOM FINDS A PATRON 


143 


One of the young heroes, however, ran out from the 
rest, and scrambled up behind; where, having righted 
himself, and nodded to the guard, with “ How do, Jem? ” 
he turned short round to Tom, and, after looking him 
over for a minute, began, — 

“I say, you fellow, is your name Brown?” 

“Yes,” said Tom, in considerable astonishment; glad, 
however, to have lighted on some one already who 
seemed to know him. 

“Ah, I thought so: you know my old aunt. Miss 
East, she lives somewhere down your way in Berkshire. 
She wrote to me that you were coming today, and asked 
me to give you a lift.” 

Torn was somewhat inclined to resent the patronizing 
air of his new friend, a boy of just about his own height 
and age, but gifted with the most transcendent coolness 
and assurance, which Tom felt to be aggravating and 
hard to bear, but couldn’t for the life of him help admir- 
ing and envying, especially whep young my lord begins 
hectoring two or three long loafing fellows, half porter, 
half stableman, with a strong touch of the blackguard; 
and in the end arranges with one of them, nicknamed 
Cooey, to carry Tom’s luggage up to the School-house 
for sixpence. 

“And heark’ee, Cooey, it must be up in ten minutes, 
or no more jobs from me. Come along. Brown.” And 
away swaggers the young potentate, w ith his hands in 
his pockets, and Tom at his side. 

“All right, sir,” says Cooey, touching his hat, with 
a leer and a wink at his companions. 

“ Hullo, though,” says East, pulling up, and taking 
another look at Tom, “this’ll never do — haven’t you 
got a hat? — we never w'ear caps here. Only the louts 
wear caps. Bless you, if you w^ere to go into the quad- 


j 


144 


ESTHETICS OF HOOFING ” 


rangle with that thing on, I — don’t know what’d 
happen.” The very idea was quite beyond young Master 
East, and he looked unutterable things. 

Tom thought his cap a very knowing affair, but 
confessed that he had a hat in his hat-box; which was 
accordingly at once extracted from the hind-boot, and 
Tom equipped in his go-to-meeting roof, as his new 
friend called it. But this didn’t quite suit his fastidious 
taste in another minute, being too shiny ; so, as they 
walk up the town they dive into Nixon’s the hatter’s, 
and Tom is arrayed, to his utter astonishment, and 
without paying for it, in a regulation cat-skin at seven- 
and-sixpence ; Nixon undertaking to send the best hat 
up to the matron’s room. School-house, in half an hour. 

“You can send in a note for a tile on Monday, and 
make it all right, you know,” said Mentor; “we’re 
allowed two seven-and-sixers a half, besides what we 
bring from home.” 

Tom by this time began to be conscious of his new 
social position and dignities, and to luxuriate in the 
realized ambition of being a public-school boy at last, 
with a vested right of spoiling two seven-and-sixers in 
half a year. 

“You see,” said his friend, as they strolled up 
toward the school gates, in explanation of his con- 
duct — “a great deal depends on how a fellow cuts 
up at first. If he’s got nothing odd about him, and 
answers straightforward, and holds his head up, he gets 
on. Now you’ll do very well as to rig, all but that cap. 
You see I’m doing the handsome thing by you, because 
my father knows yours; besides, I want to please the 
old lady. She gave me half-a-sov this half, and per- 
haps’ll double it next, if I keep in her good books.” 

There’s nothing for candor like a lower-school boy, 
and East was a genuine specimen — frank, hearty, and 


INTRODUCTION TO THE MATRON 


145 


good-natured, well satisfied with himself and his posi- 
tion, and chock full of life and spirits, and all the Rugby 
prejudices and traditions which he had been able to get 
together, in the long course of one half year, during 
which he had been at the School-house. 

And Tom, notwithstanding his bumptiousness, felt 
friends with him at once, and began sucking in all his 
ways and prejudices as fast as he could understand 
them. 

East was great in the character of cicerone ; he 
carried Tom through the great gates, where were only 
two or three boys. These satisfied themselves with the 
stock questions, — “You fellow, what’s your name? 
where do you come from? How old are you? Where 
do you board? and. What form are you in?” — and 
so they passed on through the quadrangle and a small 
courtyard, upon which looked down a lot of little 
windows (belonging, as his guide informed him, to 
some of the School-house studies), . into the matron’s 
room, where East introduced Tom to that dignitary; 
made him give up the key of his trunk, that the matron 
might unpack his linen, and told the story of the hat 
and of his own presence of mind: upon the relation 
whereof the matron laughingly scolded him, for the 
coolest new boy in the house ; and East, indignant at 
the accusation of newness, marched Tom off into the 
quadrangle, and began showing him the schools, and 
examining him as to his literary attainments ; the result 
of which w'as a prophecy that they would be in the same 
form, and could do their lessons together. 

“And now come in and see my study; we shall have 
just time before dinner; and afterwards, before calling- 
over, we’ll do the close.” 

Tom followed his guide through the School-house 
hall, which opens into the quadrangle. It is a great 


146 


EAST’S STUDY 


room tliirty feet long' and eighteen high, or thereabouts, 
with two great tables running the whole length, and 
two large fireplaces at the side, with blazing fires in them, 
at one of which some dozen boys were standing and 
lounging, some of whom shouted to East to stop ; but 
he shot through with his convoy, and landed him in the 
long dark passages, with a large fire at tlie end of each, 
upon which the studies opened. Into one of these, in 
the bottom passage. East bolted with our hero, slamming 
and bolting the door behind them, in case of pursuit from 
the hall, and Tom was for the first time in a Rugby 
boy’s citadel. 

He hadn’t been prepared for separate studies, and 
was not a little astonished and delighted with the palace 
in question. 

It wasn’t very large certainly, being about six feet 
long by four broad. It couldn’t be called light, as 
there were bars and a grating to the window ; which- 
little precautions were necessary in the studies on the 
ground floor looking out into the close, to prevent the 
exit of small boys after locking up, and the entrance 
of contraband articles. But it was uncommonly com- 
fortable to look at, Tom thought. The space under 
the window at the further end was occupied by a square 
table covered with a reasonably clean and whole red 
and blue check tablecloth ; a hard-seated sofa covered 
with red stuff occupied one side, running up to the end, 
and making a seat for one, or b}^ sitting close, for two, 
at the table; and a good stout wooden chair afforded 
a seat to another boy, so that three could sit and work 
together. The walls were wainscoted half-way up, the 
wainscot being covered with green baize, the remainder 
with a bright-patterned paper, on which hung three or 
^our prints, of dogs’ heads, Grimaldi winning the 
(ylesbury steeple-chase, Amy Robsart, the reigning 


THE FUKNISHING OF EAST’S STUDY 


147 


Waverlej beauty of the day, and Tom Crib in a posture 
of defense, which did no credit to the science of that 
hero, if truly represented. Over the door were a row 
of hat-pegS, and on each side bookcases with cupboards 
at the bottom; shelves and cupboards being filled indis- 
criminately with schoolbooks, a cup or two, a mouse- 
trap, and brass candlesticks, leather straps, a fustian 
bag, and some curious-looking articles, which puzzled 
Tom not a little, until his friend explained that they 
were climbing-irons, and showed their use. A cricket- 
bat and small fishing-rod stood up in one comer. 

This was the residence of East and another boy in 
the same form, and had more interest for Tom than 
Windsor Castle, or any other residence in the British 
Isles. For was he not about to become the joint owner 
of a similar home, the first place which he could call 
his own.^ One’s own — what a charm there is in the 
words ! How long it takes boy and man to find out their 
worth! how fast most of us hold on to them! faster and 
more jealously, the nearer we are to that general home, 
into which we can take nothing, but must go naked as 
we came into the world. When shall we learn that he 
who multiplieth possessions multiplieth troubles, and that 
the one single use of things which we call our own is 
that they may be his who hath need of them.? 

“And shall I have a study like this, too.?” said Tom. 

“Yes, of course, you’ll be chummed with some fellow 
on ^Monday, and 3'OU can sit here till then.” 

“What nice places!” 

“ Tliey’re well enougii,” answered East patronizingly, 
“only uncommon cold at nights sometimes. Gower — 
that’s my chum — and I make a fire with paper on the 
floor after supper generally, only that makes it so 
smoky.” 

“ But tliere’s a big fire out in the passage,” said Tom. 


148 


TOM^S FIRST RUGBY DINNER 


“ Precious little good we get out of that, though,” 
said East; “Jones, the praepostor, has the study at the 
fire end, and he has rigged up an iron rod and green 
baize curtain across the passage, which he* draws ait 
night, and sits there Avith his door open, so he gets all 
the fire, and hears if we come out of our studies after 
eight, or make a noise. However, he’s taken to sitting 
in the fifth-form room lately, so we do get a bit of fire 
now sometimes ; only to keep a sharp lookout that he 
don’t catch you behind his curtain when he comes down 
— that’s all.” 

A quarter past one now struck, and the bell began 
tolling for dinner, so they went into the hall and took 
their places, Tom at the very bottom of the second 
table next to the praepostor (who sat at the end to keep 
order there), and East a few paces higher. And now 
Tom for the first time saw his future school-fellows in 
a body. In they came, some hot and ruddy from foot- 
ball or long walks, some pale and chilly from hard 
reading in their studies, some from loitering over the 
fire at the pastry-cook’s, dainty mortals, bringing with 
them pickles and sauce-bottles to help them with their 
dinners. And a great big-bearded man, Avhom Tom took 
for a master, began calling over the names, while the 
great joints were being rapidly carved on a third table 
in the comer by the old verger and the housekeeper. 
Tom’s turn came last, and meanwhile he was all eyes, 
looking first with awe at the great man who sat close 
to him, and was helped first, and who read a hard-looking 
book all the time he was eating; and when he got up 
and walked off to the fire, at the small boys round him, 
some of whom were reading, and the rest talking' in 
whispers to one another, or stealing one another’s bread, 
or shooting pellets, or digging their forks through the 
tablecloth. However, notwithstanding his curiositv, he 


EAST ENLIGHTENS TOM 


149 


managed to make a capital dinner by the time the big 
man called “ Stand up ! ” and said grace. 

As soon as dinner was over, and Tom had been ques- 
tioned by such of his neighbors as were curious to his 
birth, parentage, education, and other like matters. East, 
who evidently enjoyed his new dignity of patron and 
Mentor, proposed having a look at the close, which Tom, 
athirst for knowledge, gladly assented to, and they went 
out through the quadrangle and past the big fives’ court, 
into the great pla^^ground. 

“ That’s the chapel you see,” said East, “ and there 
just behind it is the place for fights ; you see it’s most out 
of the way of the masters, who all live on the other side 
and don’t come by here after first lesson or callings-over. 
That’s when the fights come off. And all this part where 
we are is the little side ground, right up to the trees, 
and on the other side of the trees is the big side ground, 
where the great matches are played. And there’s the 
island in the furthest corner; you’ll know that well 
enough next half, when there’s island fagging. I say, 
it’s horrid cold; let’s have a run across,” and away 
went East, Tom close behind him. East was evidently 
putting his best foot foremost, and Tom, who was 
mighty proud of his running, and not a little anxious 
to show his friend that although a new boy he was no 
milk-sop, laid himself down to work in his very best style. 
Right across the close they went, each doing all he 
knew, and there wasn’t a yard between them when they 
pulled up at the island moat. 

“ I say,” said East, as soon as he got his wind, looking 
Muth much increased respect at Tom, “you ain’t a bad 
scud, not b}^ no means. Well, I’m as warm as a toast 
now.” 

“But why do you w^ear w^hite trousers in November.? ” 
said Tom. He had been struck by this peculiarity in 


150 ^ WHITE TEOUSEES IN NOVEMBEE 

the costume of almost all the School-house boys. 

“Whj^, bless us, don’t you know.? — No, I forgot. 
Why, today’s the School-house match. Our house plays 
the whole of the school at football. And we all wear 
white trousers to show ’em we don’t care for hacks. 
You’re in luck to come today. You just will see a 
match; and Brooke’s going to let me play in quarters. 
That’s more than he’ll do for any other lower-school 
boy, except James, and he’s fourteen.” 

“Who’s Brooke.?” 

“Why, that big fellow who called over at dinner, to 
be sure. He’s cock of the school, and head of the 
School-house side, and the best kick and charger in 
Rugby.” 

“ Oh, but do show me where they play. And tell me 
about it. I love football so, and have played all my life. 
Won’t Brooke let me play.?^” 

“Not he,” said East, with some indignation; “why, 
you don’t know the rules — you’ll be a month learning 
them. And then it’s no joke playing up in a match, 
I can tell you. Quite another thing from your private 
school games. Why, there’s been two collar-bones 
broken this half, and a dozen fellows lamed. And last 
year a fellow had his leg broken.” 

Tom listened with the profoundest respect to this 
chapter of accidents, and followed East across the level 
ground till they came to a sort of gigantic gallow^s of 
tw'o poles eighteen feet high, fixed upright in the ground 
some fourteen feet apart, with a cross bar running from 
one to the other at the height of ten feet or there- 
abouts. 

“This is one of the goals,” said East, “and you see 
the other, across there, right opposite, under the Doctor’s 
wall. Well, the match is for the best of three goals; 
whichever side kicks tw'o goals wins: and it won’t do, 


EAST DISGOVESETH ON FOOTBALL 


151 


you see, just to kick the ball through these posts, it 
must go over the cross bar; any height’ll do, so long 
as it’s between the posts. You’ll have to stay in goal 
to touch the ball when it rolls behind the posts, because 
if the other side touch it they have a try at goal. Then 
we fellows in quarters, we play just about in front of 
goal here, and have to turn the ball and kick it back 
before the big fellows on the other side can follow it up. 
And in front of us all the big fellows play, and that’s 
where the scrummages are mostly.” 

Tom’s respect increased as he struggled to make out 
his friend’s technicalities, and the other set to work to 
explain the mysteries of “ off your side,” “ drop-kicks,” 
“ punts,” “ places,” and the other intricacies of tlie 
great science of football. 

‘‘But how do you keep the ball between the goals?’’ 
said he; “I can’t see why it mightn’t go right down 
to the chapel.” 

“Why, that’s out of play,” answered East. “Yon 
see this gravel walk running down all along this side of 
the playing-ground, and the line of elms opposite on 
the other? Well, they’re the bounds. As soon as the 
ball gets past them, it’s in touch, and out of play. And 
then, whoever first touches it, has to knock it straight 
out amongst the players-up, who make two lines with 
a space betw^een them, every fellow going on his own side. 
Ain’t there just fine scrummages then ! and the three trees 
you see there w'hich come out into the play, that’s a 
tremendous place when the ball hangs there, for you get 
throwm against the trees, and that’s worse than anv 
hack.” 

Tom wondered within himself as they strolled back 
again tow^ard the fives’ court whether the matches w^ere 
really such break-neck affairs as East represented, and 


152 


THE PUNT-ABOUT 


whether, if they were, he should ever get to like them 
and play-up well. 

He hadn’t long to wonder, however, for next minute 
East cried out, “ Hurra ! here’s the punt-about, — come 
along and try your hand at a kick.” The punt-about 
is the practice ball, which is just brought out and kicked 
about anyhow from one boy to another before callings- 
over and dinner, and at other odd times. They joined 
the boys who had brought it out, all small School-house 
fellows, friends of East; and Tom had the pleasure of 
trying his skill, and performed very creditably, after 
first driving his foot three inches into the ground, and 
then nearly kicking his leg into the air, in vigorous 
efforts to accomplish a drop-kick after the manner of 
East. 

Presently more boys and bigger came out, and boys 
from other houses on their way to calling-over, and 
more balls were sent for. The crowd thickened as three 
o’clock approached ; and when the hour struck, one hun- 
dred and fifty boys were hard at work. Then the balls 
were held, the master of the week came down in cap 
and gown to calling-over, and the whole school of three 
hundred boys swept into the big scfiool to answer to their 
names. 

“I may come in, mayn’t 1.^” said Tom, catching East 
by the arm and longing to feel one of them. 

“Yes, come along, nobody’ll say anything. You 
won’t be so eager to get into calling-over after a 
month,” replied his friend ; and they marched into the 
big school together, and up to the further end, wEere 
that illustrious form, the lower fourth, which had the 
honor of East’s patronage for the time being, stood. 

The master mounted into the high desk by the door, 
and one of the praepostors of the week stood b}" him on 
the steps, the other three marching up and down the 


CALLING-OVER 


153 


middle of the school with their canes, calling out 
“Silence, silence!” The sixth form stood close by the 
door on the left, some thirty in number, mostly great 
big grown men, as Tom thought, surveying them from 
a distance with awe. The fifth form behind them, twice 
their number and not quite so big. These on the left; 
and on the right the lower fifth, shell, and all the 
junior forms in order; while up the middle marched 
the three praepostors. 

Then the praepostor who stands by the master calls 
out the names, beginning with the sixth form, and as 
he calls, each boy answers “here” to his name, and 
walks out. Some of the sixth stop at the door to turn 
the whole string of boys into the close; it is a great 
match day, and every boy in the school, will-he, nill-he, 
must be there. The rest of the sixth go forward into 
the close, to see that no one escapes by any of the side 
gates. 

Today, however, being the School-house match, none 
of the School-house praepostors stay by the door to watch 
for truants of their side; there is carte blanche to the 
School-house fags to go where they like: “They trust 
to our honor,” as East proudly informs Tom; “they 
know very well that no School-house boy would cut the 
match. If he did, we’d very soon cut him, I can tell 
you.” 

The master of the week being short-sighted, and the 
praepostors of the week small and not well up to 
their work, the low'er-school boys employ the ten minutes 
w^hich elapse before their names are called in pelting 
one another vigorously with acorns, which fly about 
in all directions. The small pnepostors dash in every 
now and then, and generally chastise some quiet, timid 
boy who is equally afraid of acorns and canes, while 
the principal performers get dexterously out of the way; 


154 


MARSHALLING FOR FOOTBALL 


and so calling-over rolls on somehow, much like the big 
world, punishments lighting on wrong shoulders, and 
matters going generally in a queer, cross-grained way, 
but the end coming somehow, which is after all the great 
point. And now the master of the week has finished, 
and locked up the big school ; and the praepostors of the 
week come out, sweeping the last remnant of the school 
fags — who had been loafing about the corners by the 
fives’ court, in hopes of a chance of bolting — before 
them into the close. 

“Hold the punt-about!” “To the goals!” are the 
cries, and all stray balls are impounded by the author- 
ities; and the whole mass of boys moves up toward 
the two goals, dividing as they go into three bodies. 
That little band on the left, consisting of from fifteen 
to twenty boys, Tom amongst them, who are making 
for the goal under the School-house wall, are the School- 
house bo^'s who are not to play-up, and have to stay in 
goal. The larger body moving to the island goal are 
the school-boys in a like predicament. The great mass 
in the middle are the players-up, both sides mingled 
together; they are hanging their jackets, and all who 
mean real work, their hats, waistcoats, neck-handker- 
chiefs, and braces, on the railings round the small trees; 
and there they go by twos and threes up to their respec- 
tive grounds. There is none of the color and tastiness 
of get-up, you will perceive, which lends such a life to 
the present game at Rugby, making the dullest and worst 
fought match a pretty sight. Now each house has its 
own uniform of cap and jersey, of some lively color: 
but at the time we are speaking of, plush caps have not 
yet come in, or uniforms of any sort, except the School- 
house white trousers, which are abominably cold today : 
let us get to work, bare-headed and girded with our 
plain leather straps — but we mean business, gentlemen. 


OLD BEOOKE’S GENEBALSHIP 


155 


And now that the two sides have fairly sundered, and 
each occupies its own ground, and we get a good look 
at them, what absurdity is this? You don’t mean to say 
that those fifty or sixty bo3'^s in white trousers, many of 
them quite small, are going to play that huge mass 
opposite ? Indeed I do, gentlemen ; they’re going to 
try at any rate, and won’t make such a bad fight of it 
either, mark my word ; for hasn’t old Brooke won the toss, 
with his lucky half-penny, and got choice of goals and 
kick-off? The new ball you may see lie there quite by 
itself, in the middle, pointing toward the school or island 
goal ; in another minute it will be well oh its way there. 
Use that minute in remarking how the School-house 
side is drilled. You will see in the first place, that the 
sixth-form boy, who has the charge of goal, has spread 
his force (the goal-keepers) so as to occupy the whole 
space behind the goal-posts, at distances of about five 
yards apart; a safe and well kept goal is the foundation 
of all good play. Old Brooke is talking to the captain 
of quarters ; and now he moves away ; see how that 
youngster spreads his men (the light brigade) carefully 
over the ground, half-way between their own goal and 
the body of their own plaj^ers-up (the heavy brigade). 
These again play in several bodies ; there is young 
Brooke and the bull-dogs — ^mark them well — ^they are 
the “ fighting brigade,” the “ die-hards,” larking about 
at leapfrog to keep themselves wami, and playing tricks 
on one another. And on each side of old Brooke, who 
is now standing in the middle of the ground and just 
going to kick-off, you see a separate wing of players-up, 
each with a boy of acknowledged prowess to look to — 
here Warner, and there Hedge; but over all is old 
Brooke, absolute as he of Russia, but wisely and bravely 
ruling over willing and worshiping subjects, a true 
football king. His face is earnest and careful as he 


156 


A SCBUMMAGE 


glances a last time over bis array, but full of pluck and 
hope, the sort of look I hope to see in my general when 
I go out to fight. 

The school side is not organized in the same way. The 
goal-keepers are all in lumps, anyhow and nohow ; you 
can’t distinguish between the players-up and the boys 
in quarters, and there is divided leadership ; but with 
such odds in strength and weight it must take more than 
that to hinder them from winning; and so their leaders 
seem to think for they let the players-up manage them- 
selves. 

But now look, there is a slight move forward of the 
School-house wings; a shout of “Are you ready and 
loud affirmative reply. Old Brooke takes half a dozen 
quick steps, and away goes the ball spinning toward 
tlie school goal; seventy yards before it touches ground, 
and at no point above twelve or fifteen feet high, a model 
kick-off ; and the School-house cheer and rush on ; the 
ball is returned, and they meet it and drive it back 
amongst the masses of the school already in motion. 
Then the two sides close, and you can see nothing for 
minutes but a swaying crowd of boys, at one point vio- 
lently agitated. That is where the ball is, and there are 
tlie keen players to be met, and the glor}^ and the hard 
knocks to be got: you hear the dull thud, thud of the 
ball, and the shouts of “ Off your side,” “ Down with 
Ihm,” “ Put him over,” “ Bravo,” This is what we call 
a scrummage, gentlemen, and the first scrummage in ' a 
School-house match was no joke in the consulship of 
Plancus. 

But see ! it has broken ; the ball is driven out on the 
School-house side, and a rush of the school carries it 
past the School-house players-up. “Look out in quar- 
ters,” Brooke’s and twenty other voices ring out : no 
need to call, though, the School-house captain of quar- 


TRE FEILOSOPHY OF FOOTBALL 


157 


ters has caught it on the bound, dodges the foremost 
school-bojs, who are heading the rush, and sends it back 
with a good drop-kick well into the enemy’s country. 
And then follows rush upon rush, and scrummage upon 
scrummage, the ball now driven through into the School- 
house quarters, and now into the school goal; for the 
School-house have not lost the advantage which the 
kick-off and a slight wind gave them at the outset, and 
are slightly “penning” their adversaries. You say you 
don’t see much in it all ; nothing but a struggling mass 
of boys, and a leather ball, which seems to excite them 
all to a great fury, as a red rag does a bull.?^ My dear 
sir, a battle would look much the same to you, except 
that the boys would be men, and the balls iron; but 
a battle would be worth your looking at for all that, 
and so is a football match. You can’t be expected to 
appreciate the delicate strokes of play, the turns by which 
a game is lost and won, — it takes an old player to do 
that, but the broad philosophy of football you can 
understand if you will. Come along with me a little 
nearer, and let us consider it together. 

The ball has just fallen again where the two sides are 
thickest, and they close rapidly around it in a scrum- 
mage; it must be driven through now by force or skill, 
till it flies out on one side or the other. Look how 
differently the boys face it! Here come two of the 
bull-dogs, bursting through the outsiders ; in they go, 
straight to the heart of the scrummage, bent on driving 
that ball out on the opposite side. This is what they 
mean to do. My sons, my sons! you are too hot; you 
have gone past the ball, and must struggle now right 
through the scrummage, and get round and back again 
to your own side, before you can be of any further use. 
Here comes young Brooke ; he goes in as straight as 
you, but keeps his head, and backs and bends, holding 


158 


BOW TO GO IN 


liimself still behind the ball, and driving it furiously 
when he gets the chance. Take a leaf out of his book, 
you young chargers. Plere come Speedicut, and Flash- 
man, the School-house bully, with shouts and great 
action. Won’t you two come up to young Brooke, 
after locking-up, by the School-house fire, with “ Okl 
fellow, wasn’t that just a splendid scrummage by the 
three trees!” But he knows you, and so do we. You 
don’t really want to drive that ball through that scrum- 
mage, chancing all hurt for the glory of the School- 
house — but to make us think that’s what you want — 
a vastly different thing; and fellows of your kidney will 
never go through more than the skirts of a scrummage, 
where it’s all push and no kicking. We respect boys 
who keep out of it, and don’t sham going in; but you 
— we had rather not say what we think of you. 

Then the boys who are bending and watching on the 
outside, mark them — they are most useful players, the 
dodgers; who seize on the ball the moment it rolls out 
from amongst the chargers, and away with it across to 
the opposite goal ; they seldom go' into the scrummage, 
but must have more coolness than the chargers: as end- 
less as are boys’ characters, so are their ways of facing 
or not facing a scrummage at football. 

Three quarters bf an hour are gone; first winds are 
failing, and weight and numbers beginning to tell. 
Yard by yard the School-house have been driven back, 
contesting every inch of ground. The bull-dogs are the 
color of mother earth from shoulder to ankle, except 
young Brooke, wFo has a marvelous knack of keeping 
his legs. The School-house are being penned in their 
turn,* and now the ball is behind their goal, under the 
Doctor’s w’all. The Doctor and some of his family are 
there looking on, and seem as anxious as any boy for the 
success of the School-house. We get a minute’s breath- 


YOUNG BROOKE’S RUSE 


159 


ing time before old Brooke kicks out, and he gives the 
word to play strongly for touch, by the three trees. 
Away goes the ball, and the bull-dogs after it, and in 
another minute there is shout of “ In touch,” ‘‘ Our 
ball.” Now’s your time, old Brooke, while your men 
are still fresh. He stands with the ball in lus hand, 
while the two sides form in deep lines opposite one an- 
other : he must strike it straight out between them. 
The lines are thickest close to him, but young Brooke 
and two or three of his men are shifting up further, 
where the opposite line is weak. Old Brooke strikes it 
out straight and strong, and it falls opposite his brother. 
Hurra ! that rush has taken it right through the school 
line, and away past the three trees, far into their quar- 
ters, and young Brooke and the bull-dogs are close upon 
it. The school leaders rush back shouting, “ Look out 
in goal,” and strain every nerve to catch him, but they 
are after the fleetest foot in Rugby. There they go 
straight for the school goal-posts, quarters scattering 
before them. One after another the bull-dogs go down, 
but young Brooke holds on. “He is dowm.” No! a 
long stagger, but the danger is past ; that was the shock 
of Crew, the most dangerous of dodgers. And now he 
is close to the school goal, the ball not three yards before 
him. There is a hurried rush of the school fags to the 
spot, but no one throws himself on the ball, the only 
chance, and young Brooke has touched it right under 
the school goal-posts. 

The school leaders come up furious, and administer 
toco to the wretched fags nearest at hand ; they may 
w'ell be angry, for it is all Lombard Street to a china 
orange that the School-house kick a goal with the ball 
touched in such a good place. Old Brooke of course 
will kick it out, but who shall catch and place it.^ Call 
Crab Jones. Here he comes, sauntering along with a 


160 


A GOAL! 


straw in his mouth, the queerest coolest fish in Rugby: 
if he were tumbled into the moon this minute, he would 
just pick himself up without taking his hands out of 
his pockets or turning a hair. But it is a moment when 
the boldest charger’s heart beats quick. Old Brooke 
stands with the ball under his arm motioning the school 
back ; he will not kick-out till they are all in goal, behind 
the posts; they are all hedging forwards, inch by inch, 
to get nearer for the rush at Crab Jones, who stands 
there in front of old Brooke to catch the ball. If they 
can reach and destroy him before he catches, the danger 
is over; and with one and the same rush they will carry 
it right away to the School-house goal. Fond hope! 
It is kicked out and caught beautifully. Crab strikes his 
heel into the ground, to mark the spot where the ball 
was caught, heyond which the school line may not ad- 
vance ; but there they stand, five deep, ready to rush the 
moment the hall touches the ground. Take plenty of 
room I don’t give the laish a chance of reaching you 1 
place it true and steady! Trust Crab Jones — he has 
made a small hole with his heel for the ball to lie on, 
by which he is resting on one knee, with his eye on old 
Brooke. ‘‘Now!” Crab places the ball at the word, 
old Brooke kicks, and it rises slowly and truly as the 
school rush forward. 

Then a moment’s pause, while both sides look up at 
the spinning ball. There it flies, straight between the 
two posts, some five feet above the cross bar, an unques- 
tioned goal; and a shout of real genuine joy rings out 
from the School-house players-up, and a faint echo of 
it comes over the close from the goal-keepers under the 
Doctor’s wall. A goal in the first hour — ^such a thing 
hasn’t been done in the School-house match this five 
years. 

“ Over ! ” is the cry : the two sides change goals, and 


GRIFFITH’S BASKETS 


161 


the School-house goal-keepers come threading their way 
across through the masses of the school ; the most openly 
triumphant of them, amongst whom is Tom, a School- 
house boy of two hours’ standing, getting their ears 
boxed in the transit. Tom indeed is excited beyond 
measure, and it is all the sixth-form boy, kindest and 
safest of goal keepers, has been able to do, to keep him 
from rushing out whenever the ball has been near their 
goal. So he holds him by his side, and instructs him in 
the science of touching. 

At this moment Griffith, the itinerant vender of 
oranges from Hill Morton, enters the close with his 
heavy baskets ; there is a rush of small boys upon the 
little pale-faced man, the two sides mingling together, 
subdued by the great Goddess Thirst, like the English 
and French by the streams in the Pyrenees. The leaders 
are past oranges and apples, but some of them visit their 
coats, and apply innocent looking ginger-beer bottles 
to their mouths. It is no ginger-beer, though, I fear, 
and will do you no good. One short mad rush, and 
then a stitch in the side, and no more honest play ; that’s 
wffiat comes of those bottles. 

But now Griffith’s baskets are empty, the ball is 
placed again midway, and the School are going to kick- 
off. Their leaders have sent their lumber into goal, and 
rated the rest ' soundly, and one hundred and tw^enty 
picked players-up are there, bent on retrieving the game. 
They are to keep the ball in front of the School-house 
goal, and then to drive it in by sheer strength and 
weight. They mean heavy play and no mistake, and so 
old Brooke sees; and places Crab Jones in quarters just 
before the goal, with four or five picked players, who are 
to keep the ball away to the sides, where a try at goal, 
if obtained, will be less dangerous than in front. He 


162 


• EAST’S CHAEGE 


himself and Warner and Hedge, who have saved them- 
selves till now, will lead the charges. 

“Are you ready “Yes.” And away comes the 
ball kicked high in the air, to give the school time to 
rush on and catch it as it falls. And here they are 
amongst us. Meet them like Englishmen, you School- 
house boys, and charge them home. Now is the time to 
show what mettle is in you — and there shall be a warm 
seat by the hall fire, and honor, and lots of bottled beer 
tonight, for him who does his duty in the next half- 
hour. And they are well met. Again and again the 
cloud of their players-up gathers before our goal, and 
comes threatening on, and Warner or Hedge, with young 
Brooke and the relics of the bull-dogs, break through 
and carry the ball back ; and old Brooke ranges the field 
like Job’s Avar-horse, the thickest scrummage parts 
asunder before his rush, like the waves before a clipper’s 
bows; his cheery voice rings over the field, and his eye 
is everywhere. And if these miss the ball, and it rolls 
dangerously in front of our goal. Crab Jones and his 
men have seized it and sent it away tow'ard the sides 
with the unerring drop-kick. This is worth living for; 
the whole sum of school-boy existence gathered up into 
one straining, struggling half-hour, a half-hour worth 
a year of common life. 

The quarter to five has struck, and the play slackens 
for a minute before goal; but there is Crew, the artful 
dodger, driving the ball in behind our goal, on the island 
side, where our quarters are weakest. Is there no one 
to meet him? Yes! look at little East! the ball is just 
at equal distances between the two, and they rush to- 
gether, the young man of seventeen and the boy of 
twelve, and kick it at the same moment. Crew passes 
on without a stagger; East is hurled forward bv the 
shock, and plunges on his shoulder, as if he would bury 


TEE LAST RUSH 


163 


himself in the ground ; but the ball rises straight into 
the air, and falls behind Crew’s back, while the “ bravos ” 
of the School-house attest the pluckiest charge of all that 
hard-fought day. Warner picks East up lame and half 
stunned, and he hobbles back into goal, conscious of 
having played the man. 

And now the last minutes are come, and the school 
gather for their last rush every boy of the hundred 
and twenty who has a run left in him. Reckless of the 
defense of their own goal, on they come across the level 
big-side ground, the ball well down amongst them, 
straight for our goal, like the column of the Old Guard 
up the slope at Waterloo. All former charges have been 
child’s play to this. Warner and Hedge have met them, 
but still on they come. The bull-dogs rush in for the 
last time; they are hurled over or canned back, striving 
hand, foot, and eyelids. Old Brooke comes sweeping 
round the skirts of the play, and turning short round, 
picks out the very heart of the scrummage, and plunges 
in. It wavers for a moment — he has the ball! No, it 
has passed him, and his voice rings out clear over the 
advancing tide, “Look out in goal.” Crab Jones catches 
it for a moment; but before he can kick, the rush is 
upon him and passes over him; and he picks himself 
up behind them with his straw in his mouth, a little 
dirtier, but as cool as ever. 

The ball rolls slowly in behind the School-house goal 
not three yards in front of a dozen of the biggest school 
players-up. 

There stand the School-house praepostor, safest of 
goal-keepers, and Tom Brown by his side, who has 
learned his trade by this time. Now is your time, Tom. 
The blood of all the Browns is up, and the two rush in 
together, and throw themselves on the ball, under the 
very feet of the advancing column ; the praepostor on 


164 


TOM^S FIRST EXPLOIT 


his hands and knees arching his back, and Tom all along 
on his face. Over them topple the leaders of the rush, 
shooting over the back of the praepostor, but falling 
flat on Tom, and knocking all the wind out of his small 
carcass. “ Our ball,” says the praepostor, rising with his 
prize, “but get up there, there’s a little fellow under 
you.” They are hauled and rolled off him, and Tom 
is discovered a motionless body. 

Old Brooke picks him up. “ Stand back, give him 
air,” he says; and then feeling his limbs, adds, “No 
bones broken. How do you feel, young un.^” 

“ Hah-hah,” gasps Tom, as his wind comes back, 
“prett}" well, thank you — all right.” 

“Who is he.f^” says Brooke. 

“ Oh, it’s Brown ; he’s a new boy ; I know him,” says 
East coming up.'^ 

“Well, he’s a plucky youngster, and will make a 
player,” says Brooke. 

And five o’clock strikes. “No side” is called, and the 
first day of the School-house match is over. 


CHAPTER VI 


AFTER THE MATCH 

Some food we had. — Shakespeare. 
■^9 7roro9 dSiJ9 , — Theocritus, Idyls. 


As THE boys scattered away from the ground, and 
East leaning on Tom’s arm, and limping along, was 
beginning to consider what luxury they should go and 
buy for tea to celebrate that glorious victory, the two 
Brookes came striding by. Old Brooke caught sight 
of East, and stopped ; put his hand kindly on his 
shoulder and said, “Bravo, youngster, you played 
famously; not much the matter, I hope.?^” 

“ No, nothing at all,” said East, “ only a little twist 
from that charge.” 

“Well, mind and get all right for next Saturday;” 
and the leader passed on, leaving East better for those 
few words than all the opodeldoc in England would have 
made him, and Tom ready to give one of his ears for 
as much notice. Ah ! light w ords of those whom we love 
and honor, what a power ye are, and how' carelessly 
wielded by those who can use you! Surely for these 
things also God wdll ask an account. 

“ Tea’s directly after locking-up, you see,” said East, 
hobbling along as fast as he could, “ so you come along 
down to Sally Harrowcll’s ; tliat’s our School-house tuck 
shop — she bakes sucli stunning murphies, we’ll have a 
penn’orth each for tea; come along, or they’ll all be 
gone.” 


165 


166 


CELEBRATING THE VICTORY 


Tom’s new purse and money burnt in his pocket; he 
wondered, as they toddled through the quadrangle and 
along the street, whether East would be insulted if he 
suggested further extravagance, as he had not sufficient 
faith in a pennyworth of potatoes. At last he blurted 
out, — 

“ I say. East, can’t we get something else besides 
potatoes.^ I’ve got lots of money, you know.” 

“Bless us, yes, I forgot,” said East, “you’ve only 
just come. You see all my tin’s been gone this twelve 
weeks, it hardly ever lasts beyond the first fortnight; 
and our allowances were .all stopped this morning for 
broken windows, so I haven’t got a penny. I’ve got a 
tick at Sally’s, of course ; but then I hate running it 
high, you see, toward the end of the half, ’cause one 
has to shell out for it all directly one comes back, and 
that’s a bore.” 

Tom didn’t understand much of this talk, but seized 
on the fact that East had no money, and was denying 
himself some little pet luxury in consequence. “Well, 
what shall I buy ? ” said he ; “ I’m uncommon hungry.” 

“ I say,” said East, stopping to look at him and rest 
his leg, “you’re a trump, Brown. I’ll do the same by 
you next half. Let’s have a pound of sausages, then ; 
that’s the best grub for tea I know of.” 

“AYry well,” said Tom, as pleased as possible; “where 
do they sell them.'^” 

“Oh, over here, just opposite;” and they crossed the 
street and walked into the cleanest little front room of 
a small house, half parlor, half shop, and bought a pound 
of most particular sausages; East talking pleasantly to 
Mrs. Porter while she put them in paper, and Tom doing 
the paying part. 

From Porter’s they adjourned to Sally Harrowell’s 
where they found a lot of School-house boys waiting for 


EAEROWELL’S 


167 


the roast potatoes, and relating their own exploits in 
the day’s match at the top of their voices. The street 
opened at once into Sally’s kitchen, a low brick-floored 
room, with large recess for fire, and chimney-corner seats. 
Poor little Sally, the most good-natured and much endur- 
ing of womankind, was bustling about with a napkin in 
her hand, from her own oven to those of the neighbors’ 
cottages, up the yard at the back of the house. Stumps, 
her husband, a short, easy-going shoemaker, with a beery 
humorous eye and ponderous calves, who lived mostly 
on his wife’s earnings, stood in a corner of the room, 
exchanging shots of the roughest description of repartee 
with every boy in turn. “ Stumps, you lout, you’ve had 
too much beer again today.” “ ’Twasn’t of your pay- 
ing for, then,” — “Stump’s calves are running down 
into his ankles, they want to get to grass.” “Better 
be doing that than gone altogether like yours,” etc., etc. 
Very poor stuff it was, but it served to make time pass ; 
and every now and then Sally arrived in the middle with 
a smoking tin of potatoes, which was cleared off in a few 
seconds, each boy as he seized his lot running off to 
the house with “ Put me down two-penn’orth, Sally ; ” 
“ Put down three-penn’orth between me and Davis,” etc. 
How she ever kept the accounts so straight as she did, 
in her head, and on her slate, was a perfect wonder. 

East and Tom got served at last, and started back 
for the School-house just as the locking-up bell began 
to ring; East on the way recounting the life and adven- 
tures of Stumps, who was a character. Amongst his 
other small avocations, he was the hind carrier of a sedan- 
chair, the last of its race, in which the Rugby ladles 
still went out to tea, and in wdiich, when he was fairly 
harnessed and carrying a load, it was the delight of 
small and mischievous boys to follow him and whip his 
calves. This was too much for the temper even of 


168 


TEA AND ITS LUXUEIES 


Stumps, and he would pursue his tormentors in a vin- 
dictive and apoplectic manner when released, but was 
easily pacified by twopence to buy beer with. 

The lower-school boys of the School-house, some fif- 
teen in number, had tea in the lower-fifth school, and 
were presided over by the old verger or head-porter. 
Each boy had a quarter of a loaf of bread and a pat 
of butter, and as much tea as he pleased; and there was 
scarcely one who didn’t add to this some further luxury, 
such as baked potatoes, a herring, sprats, or something of 
the sort; but few, at this period of the half-year, could 
live up to a pound of Porter’s sausages, and East was 
in great magnificence upon the strength of theirs. Pie 
had produced a toasting-fork from his study, and set 
Tom to toast the sausages, while he mounted guard over 
their butter and potatoes ; “ ’cause,” as he explained, 
“ you’re a new boy, and they’ll play you some trick and 
get our butter, but you can toast just as well as I.” So 
Tom, in the midst of three or four more urchins similarly 
employed, toasted his face and the sausages at the same 
time before the huge fire, till the latter cracked; when 
East from his w^atch-tower shouted that they were done, 
and then the feast proceeded, and the festive cups of 
tea were filled and emptied, and Tom imparted of the 
sausages in small bits to many neighbors, and thought 
he had never tasted such good potatoes or seen such jolly 
boys. They on their parts waived all ceremony, and 
pegged away at the sausages' and potatoes, and remem- 
bering Tom’s performance in goal, voted East’s new 
crony a brick. After tea, and while the things were 
being cleared away, they gathered round the fire, and 
the talk on the match still went on ; and those who had 
them to show, pulled up their trousers and showed the 
hacks they had received in the good cause. 

They were soon, however, turned out of the school, 


SINGING 


169 


and East conducted Tom up to his bedroom, that he 
might get on clean things and wash himself before 
singing. 

“What’s singing. said Tom, taking his head out 
of his basin, where he had been plunging it in cold 
water. 

“Well, you are jolly green,” answered his friend 
from a neighboring basin. “Why, the last six Satur- 
days of every half w^e sing, of course: and this is the 
first of them. No first lesson to do, you know, and lie 
in bed tomorrow morning.” 

“But who sings.?” 

“ Why, everybody, of course ; you’ll see soon enough. 
We begin directly after supper, and sing till bedtime. 
It ain’t such good fun now, though, as in the summer 
half, ’cause then w^e sing in the little fives’ court, under 
the library, you know. We take out tables, and the big 
boys sit round, and drink beer ; double allowance on Sat- 
urday nights ; and we cut about the quadrangle between 
the songs, and it looks like a lot of robbers in a cave. 
And the louts come and pound at the great gates, and 
we pound back again, and shout at them. But this half 
we only sing in the hall. Come along down to my 
study.” 

Their principal employment in the study was to clear 
out East’s table, removing the drawers and ornaments 
and tablecloth — for he lived in the bottom passage, and 
his table was in requisition for the singing. 

Supper came in due course at seven o’clock, consist- 
ing of bread and cheese and beer, which was all saved 
for the singing; and directly afterwards the fags went to 
work to prepare the hall. The School-house hall, as has 
been said, is a great long high room, with, two large fires 
on one side, and two large iron-bound tables, one running 
dowm the middle, and the other along the wall opposite 


170 


TOM’S PESFOnMANCE 


the fire places. Around the upper fire the fags placed 
the tables in the form of a horseshoe, and upon them 
the jugs with the Saturday night’s allowance of beer. 
Then the big boys used to drop in and take their seats, 
bringing with them bottled beer and song-books ; for 
although they all knew the songs by heart, it was the 
thing to have an old manuscript book descended from 
some departed hero, in which they were all carefully 
written out. 

The sixth-form boys had not yet appeared; so to fill 
up the gap, an interesting and time-honored ceremony 
was gone through. Each new boy was placed on the 
table in turn, and made to sing a solo, under the penalty 
of drinking a large mug of salt and water if he resisted 
or broke down. However, the new boys all sing like 
nightingales tonight, and the salt water is not in requi- 
sition ; Tom, as his part, performing the old west- 
country song of “The Leather BottM” with consider- 
able applause. And at the half-hour down come the 
sixth and fifth-form boys, and take their places at the 
tables, which are filled up by the next biggest boys, the 
rest, for whom there is no room at the table, standing 
round outside. 

The glasses and mugs are filled, and then the fugle- 
man strikes up the old sea song, — 

wet sheet and a flowing sea, 

And a wind that follows fast,’’ etc., 

which is the invariable first song in the School-house 
and all the seventy voices join in, not mindful of 
harmony, but bent on noise, which they attain decidedly, 
hut the general effect isn’t bad. And then follow the 
“British Grenadiers,” “Billy Taylor,” “The Siege of 
Soringapatam,” “ Three Jolly Postboys,” and other 


BROOKE’S HONORS 


171 


vociferous songs in rapid succession, including tiie 
“ Chesapeake and Shannon,” a song lately introduced in 
honor of old Brooke ; and when they come to the 
words, — 

“ Brave Broke he waved his sword, crying, Now my lads, aboard. 
And we’ll stop their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy, oh!“ 

you expect the roof to come down. The sixth and fiftli 
know that “ brave Broke ” of the Shannon was no sort 
of relation to our old Brooke. The fourth form are 
uncertain in their belief, but for the most part hold that 
old Brooke was a midshipman then on board his uncle’s 
ship. And the lower-school never doubt for a moment 
that it was our old Brooke who led the boarders, in what 
capacity they care not a straw. During the pauses the 
bottled beer corks fly rapidly, and the talk is fast and 
merry, and the big boys, at least all of them who have 
a fellow-feeling for dry throats, hand their mugs over 
theil* shoulders to be emptied by the small ones who stand 
round behind. 

Then Warner, the head of the house, gets up and 
wants to speak, but he can’t, for every boy knows what’s 
coming; and the big boys who sit at the tables pound 
them and cheer; and the small boys who stand behind 
pound one another, and cheer, and rush about the hall 
cheering. Then silence being made, Warner reminds 
them of the old School-house custom of drinking the 
healths, on the first night of singing, of those who are 
going fo leave at the end of the half. “ He sees that 
they know what he is going to say already — (loud 
cheers) — and so won’t keep them, but only ask them 
to treat the toast as it deserves. It is the head of the 
eleven, the head of big-side football, their leader on this 
glorious daA' — Pater Brooke ! ” 


172 


BBOOKE niSCOUBSETH 


And away goes the pounding and cheering again, 
becoming deafening when old Brooke gets on his legs: 
till, a table having broken down, and a gallon or so of 
beer been upset, and all throats getting dry, silence 
ensues, and the hero speaks, leaning his hands on the 
table, and bending a little forwards. No action, no tricks 
of oratory ; plain, strong, and straight, like his play. 

“ Gentlemen of the School-house ! I am very proud 
of the way in which you have received my name, and 
I wish I could say all I should like in return. But I 
know I shan’t. However, I’ll do the best I can to say 
what seems to me ought to be said by a fellow wdio’s 
just going to leave, and who has spent a good slice of 
his life here. Eight years it is, and eight such years 
as I can never hope to have again. So now I hope 
you’ll all listen to me — (loud cheers of “ That we will ”) 
— for I’m going to talk seriously. You’re bound to 
listen to me, for what’s the use of calling me ‘pater,’ 
and all that, if you don’t mind what I say.? And I’m 
going to talk seriously, because I feel so. It’s a jolly 
time, too, getting to the end of the half, and a goal 
kicked by us first day — (tremendous applause) — after 
one of the hardest and fiercest day’s play I can remember 
in eight years — (frantic shoutings). The school played 
splendidly, too, I will say, and kept it up to the last. 
That last charge of theirs would have carried away a 
house. I never thought to see anything again of old 
Crab there, except little pieces, when I saw him tumbled 
over by it — (laughter and shouting, and great slap- 
ping on the back of Jones by the boys nearest him). 
Well, but we beat ’em — (cheers). Ay, but why did we 
beat ’em.^ answer me that — (shouts of “Your play.”). 
Nonsense! ’Twasn’t the wind and kick-off either — that 
wouldn’t do it. ’Twasn’t because we’ve half a dozen of 
the best players in the scliool, as we have. I wouldn’t 


ON UNION, AND AGAINST BULLYING 


173 


change Warner, and Hedge, and Crab, and the young 
un, for any six on their side — (violent cheers). But 
half a dozen fellows can’t keep it up for two hours 
against two hundred. Why is it, tlien.? I’ll tell you 
what I think. It’s because we’ve more reliance on one 
another, more of a house feeling, more fellowship than 
the school can have. Each of us knows and can depend 
on his next hand man better — that’s why we beat ’em 
today. We’ve union, they’ve division — there’s the 
secret — (cheers). But how’s this to be kept up.^ How’s 
it to be improved That’s the question. For I take it, 
we’re all in earnest about beating the school, whatever 
else w'e care about. I know I’d sooner win two School- 
house matches running than get the Balliol scholarship 
any day — (frantic cheers). 

“ Now^, I’m as proud of the house as any one. I be- 
lieve it’s the best house in the school, out-and-out — 
(cheers). But it’s a long way from what I want to 
see it. First, there’s a deal of bullying going on. I 
know it well. I don’t pry about and interfere; that 
only makes it more underhand, and encourages the small 
boys to come to us with their fingers in their eyes telling 
tales, and so we should be worse off than ever. It’s very 
little kindness for the sixth to meddle generally — you 
youngsters, mind that. You’ll be all the better football 
players for learning to stand it, and to take your own 
parts, and fight it through. But depend on it, there’s 
nothing breaks up a house like bull^dng. Bullies are 
cow^ards, and one coward makes many ; so good-bye to 
the School-house match if bullying gets ahead here. 
(Loud applause from the small boys, wdio look meaningly 
at Flashman and other boys at the tables. ) Then there’s 
fuddling about in the public-house, and drinking bad 
spirits, and punch, and such rot-gut stuff. That w'on’t 


174 


liSOOKE 


for it. You get plenty of good beer here, and that’s 
enough for you ; and drinking isn’t fine or manly, what- 
ever some of you may think of it. 

“ One other thing I must have a word about. A lot of 
you think and say, for I’ve heard you, ‘ There’s this new 
Doctor hasn’t been here so long as some of us, and he’s 
changing all the old customs. Rugby, and the School- 
house especially, is going to the dogs. Stand up for the 
good old ways, and down with the Doctor!’ Now I’m 
as fond of old Rugby customs and ways as any of you, 
and I’ve been here longer than any of you, and I’ll give 
you a word of advice in time, for I shouldn’t like to 
see any of you getting sacked. ‘ Down with the Doc- 
tor’ ’s easier said than done. You’ll find him pretty 
tight on his perch, I take it, and an awkwardish cus- 
tomer to handle in that line. Besides, now, what cus- 
toms has he put down? There was the good old custom 
of taking the linchpins out of the farmers’ and bag- 
men’s gigs at the fairs, and a cowardly blackguard cus- 
tom it was. We all know what came of it, and no wonder 
the Doctor objected to it. But, come now, any of you, 
name a custom that he has put down.” 

“The hounds,” calls out a fifth-form boy, clad in a 
green cutaway with brass buttons and cord trousers, the 
leader of the sporting interest, and reputed a great rider 
and keen hand generally. 

“ Well, we had six or seven mangey harriers and 
beagles belonging to the house. I’ll allow, and had had 
them for years, and that the Doctor put them down. 
But what good ever came of them? Only rows with all 
the keepers for ten miles round; and big-side hare-and- 
hounds is better fun ten times over. What else?” 

No answer. 

“Well, I won’t go on. Think it over for yourselves; 
you’ll find, I believe, that he don’t meddle with anv one 


STANDETU VP FOP THE DOCTOR 


175 


that’s worth keeping. And mind now, I say again, look 
out lor squalls, if you will go your own way, and 
that way ain’t the Doctor’s, for it’ll lead to grief. You 
all know that I’m not the fellow to back a master through 
thick and thin. If I saw him stopping football, or 
cricket, or bathing, or sparring, I’d be as ready as any 
fellow to stand up about it. But he don’t — he encour- 
ages them; didn’t you see him out today for half an 
hour watching us.?” (loud cheers for the Doctor;) “and 
he’s a strong true man, and a w ise one too, and a public- 
school man, too.” (Cheers.) “And so let’s stick to 
him, and talk no more rot, and drink his health as the 
head of the house.” (Loud cheers.) “And now I’ve 
done blowing up, and very glad I am to have done. But 
it’s a solemn thing to be thinking of leaving a place 
which one has lived in and loved for eight years; and if 
one can say a word for the good of the old house at such 
a time, wLy, it should be said, whether bitter or sweet. 
If I hadn’t been proud of the house and you — ay, no 
one knows how proud — I shouldn’t be blowung you up. 
And now let’s get to singing. But before I sit down 
I must give you a toast to be drunk with three-times- 
three and all the honors. It’s a toast which I hope every 
one of us, wherever he may go hereafter, will never fail 
to drink when he thinks of the brave bright days of his 
boyhood. It’s a toast w^hich should bind us all together, 
and to those who’ve gone before, and who’ll come after 
us here. It is the dear old Scliool-house — the best house 
of the best school in England ! ” 

My dear boys, old and young, 3^ou who have belonged, 
or do belong, to other schools and other houses, don’t 
begin throwing my poor little book about the room, and 
abusing me and it, and vowing you’ll read no more when 
you get to this point. I allow' you’ve provocation for 
it. But come now' — w'ould you, any of you, give a fig 


176 


SCHOOL IDOLATRIES 


for a fellow who didn’t believe in, and stand up for, his 
own house and his own school? You know you wouldn’t. 
Then don’t object to my cracking up the old School- 
house, Rugby. Haven’t I a right to do it, w^hen I’m 
taking all the trouble of writing this true history for all 
of your benefits? If you ain’t satisfied, go and write 
the history of your own houses in your own times, and 
say all you know for your own schools and houses, pro- 
vided it’s true, and I’ll read it without abusing you. 

The last few words hit the audience in their weakest 
place; they had been not altogether enthusiastic at sev- 
eral parts of old Brooke’s speech; but “the best house 
of the best school in England” was too much for them 
all, and carried even the. sporting and drinking interests 
off their legs into rapturous applause, and ( it is to be 
hoped) resolutions to lead a new life and remember old 
Brooke’s words ; which, however, they didn’t altogether 
do, as will appear hereafter. 

But it required all old Brooke’s popularity to carry 
down parts of his speech ; especially that relating to the 
Doctor. For there are no such bigoted holders by estab- 
lished forms and customs, be they never so foolish or 
meaningless, as English school-boys, at least as the 
school-boy of our generation. We magnified into heroes 
every boy who had left, and looked upon him with awe 
and reverence when he revisited the place a year or so 
afterwards, on his way to or from Oxford or Cambridge ; 
and happy was the boy wdio remembered him, and sure 
of an audience as he expounded what he used to do and 
say, though it were sad enough stuff to make angels, 
not to say head-masters weep. 

We looked upon every trumpery little custom and habit 
which had obtained in the school as though it had been 
a law of the Medes and Persians, and regarded the 


•^TEE DOCTOE^’ AND EIS WOEK 


177 


infringement or variation of it as a sort of sacrilege. 
And the Doctor, than whom no man or boy had a 
stronger liking for old school customs which were good 
and sensible, had, as has already been hinted, come into 
most decided collision with several which were neither 
the one nor the other. And as old Brooke had said, when 
he came into collision with boys or customs, there was 
nothing for them but to give in or take themselves off ; 
because what he said had to be done, and no mistake about 
it. • And this was beginning to be pretty clearly under- 
stood; the boys felt that there was a strong man over 
them, who would have things his own way, and hadn’t 
yet learned that he was a wise and loving man also. His 
personal character and influence had not had time to 
make itself felt, except by a very few of the bigger boys 
with whom he came more directl}^ in contact ; and he was 
looked upon with great fear and dislike by the great 
majority even of his own house. For he had found 
school and School-house in a state of monstrous license 
and misrule, and was still employed in the necessary but 
unpopular work of setting up order with a strong hand. 

However, as has been said, old Brooke triumphed, 
and the boys cheered him, and then the Doctor. And 
then more songs came, and the liealths of the other boys 
about to leave, who each made a speech, one flowery, 
another maudlin, a third prosy, and so on, which are not 
necessary to be here recorded. 

Half -past nine struck in the middle of the perform- 
ance of ‘‘Auld Lang Syne,” a most obstreperous pro- 
ceeding; during which there was an immense amount of 
standing with one foot on the table, knocking mugs 
together and shaking hands, without which accompani- 
ments it seems impossible for the youth of Britain to take 
part in that famous old song. The under-porter of the 


178 


BREAK UP OF SINGING 


School-house entered during the performance, bearing 
five or six long wooden candlesticks, with lighted dips 
in them, which he proceeded to stick into their holes in 
such part of the great tables as he could get at ; and 
then stood outside the ring till the end of the song, when 
he was hailed with shouts. 

“ Bill, you old muff, the half-hour hasn’t struck.” 

“ Here, Bill, drink some cocktail,” “ Sing us a song, 
old boy,” “Don’t you wish you may get the table. 
Bill drank the proffered cocktail not unwillingly, and 
putting down the empty glass, remonstrated, “Now, 
gentlemen, there’s only ten minutes to prayers, and we 
must get the hall straight.” 

Shouts of “No, no!” and a violent effort to strike 
up “Billy Taylor” for the 'third time. Bill looked 
appealingly to old Brooke, who got up and stopped the 
noise. “Now, then, lend a hand, you youngsters, and 
get the tables back, clear away the jugs and glasses. 
Bill’s right. Open the windows, Warner.” The boy 
addressed, who sat by the long ropes, proceeded to pull 
up the great windows, and let in a clear fresh rush of 
flight air, which made the candles flicker and gutter, and 
the fires roar. The circle broke up, each collaring his 
own jug, glass, and song-book; Bill pounced on the big 
table, and began to rattle it away to its place outside the 
huttery door. The lower passage boys carried off their 
small tables, aided b}" their friends, while above all, 
standing on the great hall table, a knot of untiring sons 
of harmony made night doleful by a prolonged perform- 
ance of “God save the King.” His Majesty King 
William IV. then reigned over us, a monarch deservedly 
popular amongst the boys addicted to melody, to whom 
he was chiefly known from the beginning of that excel- 
lent, if slightly vulgar, song in which they much 
delighted : — 


LAST LOYAL STRAINS 


179 


Come, neighbors all, both great and small, 

Perform your duties here, 

And loudly sing “live 'Billy our king,’’ 

For bating the tax upon beer. 

Others of the more learned in songs also celebrated his 
praises in a sort of ballad, which I take to have been 
written by some Irish loyalist. I have forgotten all but 
the chorus, which ran, — 

God save our good King William, be his name forever blest. 

He’s the father of all his people, and the guardian of all the rest. 


In troth we were loyal subjects in those days, in a 
rough way. I trust that our successors make as much 
of her present Majesty, and, having regard to the 
greater refinement of the times, have adopted or written 
other songs equally hearty, but more civilized, in her 
honor. 

Then the quarter to ten struck, and the prayer hell 
rang. The sixth and fifth-form boys ranged themselves 
in their school order along the wall, on either side of 
the great fires, the middle-fifth and upper-school boys 
round the long table in the middle of the hall, and the 
lower-school boys round the upper part of the second 
long table, which ran down the side of the hall furthest 
from the fires. Here Tom found himself at the bottom 
of all, in a state of mind and body not at all fit for 
prayers, as he thought ; and so tried hard to make him- 
self serious, but couldn’t, for the life of him, do any- 
thing but repeat in his head the choruses of some of the 
songs, and stare at all the boys opposite, wondering at 
the brilliancy of their w'aistcoats, and speculating what 
sort of fellows they were. The steps of the head-porter 
are heard on the stairs, and a light gleams at the door. 
“Hush!” from the fifth-form boys who stand there. 


180 


PE AY EES 


and then in strides the Doctor, cap on head, book in 
one hand, and gathering up his gown in the other. He 
walks up the middle, and takes his post by Warner, who 
!)Ggins calling over tlie names. The Doctor takes no 
notice of anything, but quietly turns over his book and 
finds the place, and then stands, cap in hand and finger 
in book, looking straight before his nose. He knows 
better than any one when to look, and when to see noth- 
ing; tonight is singing night, and there’s been lots of 
noise and no harm done; nothing but beer drunk, and 
nobody the worse for it ; though some of them do look 
hot and exci1;ed. So the Doctor sees nothing, but fas- 
cinates Tom in a horrible manner as he stands there, and 
reads out the Psalm in that deep, ringing, searching 
voice of his. Prayers are over, and Tom still stares 
open-mouthed after the Doctor’s retiring figure, when 
he feels a pull at his sleeve, and, turning round, sees 
East. 

“ I say, were you ever tossed in a blanket ? ” 

“No,” said Tom; “why.?” 

“ ’Cause there’ll be tossing tonight, most likely, 
before the sixth come up to bed. So if you funk, you 
just come along and hide, or else they’ll catch you and 
toss 3 mu.” 

“Were you ever tossed.? Does it hurt.?” inquired 
Tom. 

“ Oh, yes, bless you, a dozen times,” said East, as he 
hobbled along by Tom’s side upstairs. “ It don’t hurt 
unless you fall on the floor. But most fellows don’t 
like it.” 

They stopped at the fireplace in the top passage, 
where were a crowd of small boys whispering together, 
and evidently unwilling to go up into the bedrooms. In 
a minute, however, a study door opened, and a sixth- 
form boy came out, and off' they all scuttled up the 


FL ASHMAN MUZZLED 


181 


stairs, and then noiselessly dispersed to their different 
rooms. Tom’s heart beat rather quick as he and East 
reached their room, but he had made up his mind. “ I 
shan’t hide. East,” said he. 

“ A er}^ well, old fellow,” replied East, evidently 
pleased; “no more shall I — they’ll be here for us 
directly.” 

The room was a great big one with a dozen beds in 
it, but not a boy that Tom could see, except East and 
himself. East pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and 
then sat on the bottom of his bed, whistling, and pulling 
off his boots; Tom followed his example. 

A noise and steps are heard in the passage, the door 
opens, and in rush four or five great fifth-form boys, 
headed by Flashman in his glory. 

Tom and East slept in the further corner of the room, 
and were not seen at first. 

“ Gone to ground, eh ? ” roared Flashman ; “ push 
’em out then, boys! look under the beds;” and he pulled 
up the little white curtain of the one nearest him. 
“ Who-o-op,” he roared, pulling away at the leg of a 
small boy, who held on tight to the leg of the bed, and 
sung out lustily for mercy. 

“ Here, lend a hand, one of you, and help me pull out 
this young howling brute. Hold your tongue, sir, or 
ril kill you.” 

“ Oh, please, Flashman, please. Walker, don’t toss 
me! I’ll fag for you. I’ll do anything, only don’t 
toss me.” 

“You be hanged,” said Flashman, lugging the 
wretched boy along, “ ’twon’t hurt you, — you! Come 
along, boys, here he is.” 

“ I say, Flashey,” sung out another of the big boys, 
“drop that; you heard what old Pater Brooke said 
tonight. I’ll be hanged if we’ll toss any one against 


182 


EAST AND TOM DEVOTE THEMSELVES 


their will — no more bullying. Let him go, I say.” 

Flashman, with an oath and a kick, released his prey, 
who rushed headlong under his bed again, for fear they 
should change their minds, and crept along underneath 
the other beds, till he got under that of the sixth-form 
boy, which he knew they daren’t disturb. 

“There’s plenty of youngsters don’t care about it,” 
said Walker. “Here, here’s Scud East — you’ll be 
tossed, won’t you, young un.^” Scud was East’s nick- 
name, or Black, as we called it, gained by his fleetness 
of foot. 

“Yes,” said East, “if you like, only mind my foot.” 

“And here’s another who didn’t hide. Hullo! new^ 
boy ; what’s your name, sir.^ ” 

“ Brown.” 

“Well, Whitey Brown, you don’t mind being tossed.^ ” 

“No,” said Tom, setting his teeth. 

“ Come along then, boys,” sung out Walker, and away 
they all went, carrying along Tom and East, to the 
intense relief of four or five other small boys, who crept 
out from under the beds and behind them. 

“ What a trump Scud is ! ” said one. “ They won’t 
^eome back . here now'.” 

“ And that new boy, too ; he must be a good plucked 
^ne.” 

“ Ah ! w'ait till he has been tossed on to the floor ; see 
now^ he’ll like it then !” 

Meantime, the procession went down the passage to 
Number 7, the largest room, and the scene of tossing, in 
the middle of which was a great open space. Here they 
joined other parties of the bigger boys, each with a 
captive or tw'o, some wdlllng to be tossed, some sullen, 
and some frightened to death. At Walker’s suggestion 
all who w'ere afraid were let off, in honor of Pater 
Brooke’s speech. 


F LAS EM AN CHECKED 


183 


Then a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket, 
dragged from one of the beds. “In with Scud, quick, 
there’s no time to lose.” East was chucked into the 
blanket. “ Once, twice, thrice, and away ; ” up he went 
like a shuttlecock, but not quite up to the ceiling. 

“Now, boys, with a will,” cried Walker, “once, twice, 
thrice, and away ! ” This time he went clean up, and 
kept himself from touching the ceiling with his hand, 
and so again a third time, when he was turned out, and 
up went another boy. And then came Tom’s turn. He 
lay quite still, by East’s advice, and didn’t dislike the 
“ once, twice, thrice ; ” but the “ away ” wasn’t so pleas- 
ant. They were in good wind now, and sent him slap 
up to the ceiling first time, against which his knees came 
rather sharply. But the moment’s pause before descend- 
ing was the rub, the feeling of utter helplessness, and of 
leaving his whole inside behind him sticking to the ceil- 
ing. Tom was very near shouting to be set down, when 
he found himself back in the blanket, but thought of 
East, and didn’t; and so took his three tosses without a 
kick or a cry, and was called a young trump for his pains. 

He and East, having earned it, stood now looking on. 
No catastrophe happened, as all the captives were cool 
hands, and didn’t struggle. This didn’t suit Flashman. 
What your real bully likes in tossing is when the boys 
kick and struggle, or hold on to one side of the blanket, 
and so get pitched bodily on to the fioor; it’s no fun to 
him when no one is hurt or frightened. 

“Let’s toss two of them together. Walker,” sug- 
gested he. 

“ What a cursed bully you are, Flashey !” rejoined the 
other. “Up with another one.” 

And so no two boys were tossed together, the peculiar 
hardship of which is, that it’s too much for human 
nature to lie still then and share troubles; and so the 


184 


TOSSING ENDS 


wretched pair of small boys struggle in the air which 
shall fall a-top in the descent, to the no small risk of 
both falling out of the blanket, and the huge delight 
of brutes like Flashman. 

But now there ’s a cry that the praepostor of the room 
is coming; so the tossing stops, and all scatter to their 
different rooms; and Tom is left to turn in, with the 
first day’s experience of a public school to meditate upon. 


CHAPTER VII 


SETTLING TO THE COLLAR 

Says Giles, ** ’Tis mortal hard to go, 

But if so he’s I must, 

I means to follow arter he 
As goes hisself the fust.’’ 

Ballad. 

Everybody, I suppose, knows the dreamy delicious 
state in which one lies, half asleep, half awake, while 
consciousness begins to return, after a sound night’s 
rest in a new place which we are glad to be in, following 
upon a day of unwonted excitement and exertion. 
There are few pleasanter pieces of life. The worst of 
it is that they last such a short time; for, nurse them 
as you will, by lying perfectly passive in mind and body, 
you can’t make more than five minutes or so of them. 
After which time, the stupid, obtrusive, wakeful entity 
which we call ‘‘ I,” as impatient as he is stiff-necked, spite 
of our teeth, will force himself back again, and take 
possession of us down to our very toes. 

It was in this state that Master Tom lay at half-past 
seven on the morning following the day of his arrival, 
and from his clean little white bed watched the move- 
ments of Bogle (the generic name by which the succes- 
sive shoeblacks of the School-house were known), as he 
marched round from bed to bed, collecting the dirty 
shoes and boots, and depositing clean ones in their places. 

There he lay, half doubtful as to where exactly in 
the universe he was, hut conscious that he had made a 


1S5 


186 


WAKING 


step in life which he had been anxious to make. It was 
only just light as he looked lazily out of the wide win- 
dows, and saw the tops of the great elms, and the rooks 
circling about, and cawing remonstrances to the lazy 
ones of their commonwealth, before starting in a body 
for the neighboring ploughed fields. The noise of the 
room-door closing behind Bogle, as he made his exit with 
the shoe-basket under his arm, roused him thoroughly, 
and he sat up in bed and looked round the room. What 
in the world could be the matter with his shoulders and 
loins.? He felt as if he had been severely beaten all 
down his back, the natural results of his performance at 
his first match. He drew up his knees and rested his 
chin on them, and went over all the events of yesterday, 
rejoicing in his new life, what he had seen of it, and all 
that was to come. 

Presently one or two of the other boys roused them- 
selves, and began to sit up and talk to one another in 
low tones. Then East, after a roll or two, came to an 
anchor, also, and, nodding to Tom, began examining 
his ankle. 

“What a pull,” said he, “that it’s lie-in-bed, for I 
shall be as lame as a tree, I think.” 

It was Sunday morning, and Sunday lectures had not 
yet been established; so that nothing but breakfast inter- 
vened between bed and eleven o’clock chapel — a gap 
by no means easy to fill up : in fact, though received with 
the correct amount of grumbling, the first lecture insti- 
tuted by the Doctor shortly afterwards was a great boon 
to the school. It was lie-in-bed, and no one was in a 
hurry to get up, especial^ in rooms where the sixth- 
form boy was a good-tempered fellow, as was the case 
in Tom’s room, and allowed the small boys to talk and 
laugh, and do pretty much what they pleased, so long 
as they didn’t disturb him. His bed was a bigger one 


LIE-lN-BED MOENING 


187 


than the rest, standing in the corner by the fireplace, 
with Avashing-stand and large basin by the side, where 
he lay in state, Avith his Avhite curtains tucked in so as 
to form a retiring place: an aAvful subject of contem- 
plation to Tom, who slept nearly opposite, and watched 
the great man rouse himself and take a book from under 
his pilloAV, and begin reading, leaning his head on his 
hand, and turning his back to the room. Soon, howeA^er, 
a noise of striving urchins arose, and muttered encour- 
agements from the neighboring boys of — “Go it. Tad- 
pole ! ” “ Now, young Green ! ” “ Haul away his 

blanket ! ” “ Slipper hini on the hands ! ” Young Green 
and little Hall, commonly called Tadpole, from his great 
black head and thin legs, slept side by side far away 
by the door, and were forever playing one another tricks, 
which usually ended, as on this morning, in open and 
violent collision; and noAA', unmindful of all order and 
authority, there they Avere each hauling away at the 
other’s bedclothes Avith one hand, and with the other, 
armed with a slipper, belaboring whatever portion of the 
body of his adversary came within reach. 

“ Hold that noise, up in the corner,” called out the 
prsepostor, sitting up and looking round his curtains; 
and the Tadpole and young Green sank down into their 
disordered beds, and then, looking at his watch, added, 
“Hullo, past eight! — whose turn for hot water 

(Where the praepostor was particular in his ablutions, 
the fags in his room had to descend in turn to the 
kitchen, and beg or steal hot water for him; and often 
the custom extended further, and two boys went down 
every morning to get a supply for the whole room.) 

“ East’s and Tadpole’s,” ansAvered the senior fag, who 
kept the rota. 

“ I can’t go,” said East ; “ I’m dead lame.” 

“ Well, be quick, some of you, that’s all,” said the 


188 


GETTING VP 


great man, as he turned out of bed, and, putting on his 
slippers, went out into the great passage which runs 
the whole length of the bedrooms, to get his Sunday 
habiliments out of his portmanteau. 

“Let me go for you,” said Tom to East, “I should 
like it.” 

“Well, thank’ee, that’s a good fellow. Just pull on 
your trousers, and take your jug and mine. Tadpole 
will show you the way.” 

And so Tom and the Tadpole, in nightshirts and 
trousers, started off downstairs, and through “ Thos’s 
hole,” as the little buttery, where candles and beer and 
bread and cheese were served out at night, was called; 
across the School-house court, down a long passage, 
and into the kitchen ; where, after some parley with the 
stalwart, handsome cook, who declared that she had filled 
a dozen jugs already, they got their hot water, and 
returned with all speed and great caution. As it was, 
they narrowly escaped capture by some privateers 
from the fifth-form rooms, who were on the lookout for 
tlie hot-water convoys, and pursued them up to the very 
door of their room, making them spill half their load 
in the passage. “ Better than going down again 
though,” as Tadpole remarked, “as we should have had 
to do, if those beggars had caught us.” 

By the time that the calling-over bell rang, Tom and 
his new. comrades were all doAvn, dressed in their best 
clothes, and he had the satisfaction of answering “here” 
to his name for the first time, the praepostor of the week 
having put it in at the bottom of his list. And then 
came breakfast, and a saunter about the close and town 
with East, whose lameness only became severe when anv 
fagging had to be done. And so they whiled away the 
time until morning chapel. 

t was a fine November morning, and the close soon 


TRE CLOSE ’’ BEFORE CHAPEL 


189 


became alive with boys of all ages, who sauntered about 
on the grass, or walked round the gravel walk, in parties 
of two or three. East, still doing the cicerone, pointed 
out all the remarkable characters to Tom as they passed : 
Osbert, who could throw a cricket ball from the little side 
ground over the rook trees to the Doctor’s wall; Gray, 
who had got the Balliol scholarship, and, what East evi- 
dently thought of much more importance, a half-holiday 
for the school by his success; Thorne, who had run ten 
miles in two minutes over the hour; Black, who had 
held his own against the cock of the town in the last 
row with the louts; and many more heroes, who then 
and there walked about and were worshipped, all trace 
of whom has long since vanished from the scene of their 
fame; and the fourth-form boy who reads their names 
rudely cut out on the old hall tables, or painted upon 
the big side-cupboard (if hall tables and big side-cup- 
boards still exist), wonders what manner of boys they 
were. It will be the same with you who wonder, my sons, 
whatever your prowess may be, in cricket, or scholarship, 
or football. Two or three years, more or less, and then 
the steadily advancing, blessed wave will pass over your 
names as it has passed over ours. Nevertheless, play 
your games and do your work manfully — see only that 
that be done, and' let the remembrance of it take care 
of itself. 

The chapel-bell began to ring at a quarter to eleven, 
and Tom got in early and took his place in the lowest 
row, and watched all the other boys come in and take 
their places, filling row after row ; and tried to construe 
the Greek text which was inscribed over the door with the 
slightest possible success, and wondered which of the 
masters, who walked down the chapel and took their 
seats in the exalted boxes at the end, would be his lord. 
And then came the closing of the doors, and the Doctor 


190 


MO UN IN G < H APE L 


in his robes and the service, which, how'ever, didn’t 
impress him much, for his feeling of wonder and 
curiosity was too strong. And the boy on one side of 
him was scratching his name on the oak panelling in 
front, and he couldn’t help watching to see what the 
name w^as, and wdiether it was well scratched: and the 
boy on the other side went to sleep and kept falling 
against him; and on the whole, though many boys even 
in that part of the school were serious and attentive, the 
general atmosphere was by no means devotional, and 
when he got out into the close again, he didn’t feel at 
all comfortable, or as if he had been to church. 

But at afternoon chapel it was quite another thing. 
He had spent the time after dinner in writing home to 
his mother, and so w^as in a better frame of mind; and 
his first curiosity w^as over, and he could attend more to 
the service. As the hymn after the prayers was being 
sung, and the chapel was getting a little dark, he was 
beginning to feel that he had been really worshipping. 
And then came that great event in his as in every Rugby 
boy’s life of that day — the first sermon from the Doctor. 

More worthy pens than mine have described that 
scene : the oak pulpit standing out by itself above the 
school-seats; the tall, gallant form; the kindling eye; 
the voice, now^ soft as the low^ notes o*f a flute, now clear 
and stirring as the call of the light infantry bugle, of 
him who stood there Sunday after Sunday, witnessing 
and pleading for his Lord, the King of righteousness 
and love and glory, with whose spirit he was filled, and 
in whose powder he spoke ; the long lines of young faces, 
rising tier above tier down the whole length of the 
chapel, from the little boy’s who had just left his mother 
to the young man’s who w^as going out next w’eek into 
the great world rejoicing in liis strength. It w'as a great 
and solemn sight, and never more so than at this time 


AFTERNOON CHAFEL 


191 


of year, when the only lights in the chapel were in the 
pulpit and at the seats of the praepostors of the week, 
and the soft twilight stole over the rest of the chapel, 
deepening into darkness in the high gallery behind the 
organ. 

But what was it, after all, which seized and held 
these three hundred boys, dragging them out of them- 
selves, willing or unwilling, for twenty minutes, on 
Sunday afternoons.^ True, there always were boys scat- 
tered up and down the school who in heart and head 
were worthy to hear and able to carry away the deepest 
and wisest words there spoken. But these were a minor- 
ity always, generally a very small one, often so small 
a one as to be countable on the fingers of your hand. 
What was it that moved and held us, the rest of the three 
hundred reckless, childish boys, who feared the Doctor 
with all our hearts, and veiy' little besides in heaven or 
earth; who thought more of our sets in the school than 
of the Church of Christ, and put the traditions of Rugby 
and the public opinion of boys in our daily life above the 
laws of God.^ We couldn’t enter into half that we heard ; 
we hadn’t the knowledge of our own hearts or the knowl- 
edge of one another, and little enough of the faith, hope, 
and love needed to that end. But we listened, as all 
boys in their better moods will listen (ay, and men, too, 
for the matter of that), to a man whom we felt to be, 
with all his heart and soul and strength, striving against 
whatever was mean and unmanly and unrighteous in our 
little world. It was not the cold, clear voice of one giv- 
ing advice and warning from serene heights to those who 
were struggling and sinning below', but the w'arin, living 
voice of one who was fighting for us and by our sides, 
and calling on us to help him and ourselves and one 
anotlier. And so, wearily and little by little, but surely 
rnd steadily on the whole, was brought home to the 


192 


THE SEEMON 


young boy, for the first time, the meaning of his life: 
that it was no fool’s or sluggard’s paradise into which 
he had wandered by chance, but a battlefield ordained 
from of old, where there are no spectators, but the 
youngest must take his side, and the stakes are life and 
death. And he who roused this consciousness in them 
showed them at the same time, by every word he spoke 
in the pulpit, and by his whole daily life, how that battle 
was to be fought; and stood there before them their fel- 
low-soldier and the captain of their band. The true sort 
of captain, too, for a boy’s army; one who had no mis- 
givings and gave no uncertain word of command, and, 
let who would yield or make truce, would fight the fight 
out (so every hoy felt) to the last gasp and the last drop 
of blood. Other sides of his character might take hold 
of and influence boys here and there; but it was this 
thoroughness and undaunted courage which more than 
anything else won his way to the hearts of the great 
mass of those on whom he left his mark, and made them 
believe first in him, and then in his Master. 

It was this quality above all others which moved such 
boys as our hero, who had nothing whatever remarkable 
about him except excess of boyishness ; hy which I mean 
animal life in its fullest measure, good nature and honest 
impulses, hatred of injustice and meanness, and thought- 
lessness enough to sink a three-decker. And so, during 
the next two years, in which it was more than doubtful 
whether he would get good or evil from the school, and 
before any steady purpose or principle grew up in him, 
whatever his week’s sins and shortcomings might have 
been, he hardly ever left the chapel on Sunday evenings 
without a serious resolve to stand by and follow the 
Doctor, and a feeling that it was only cowardice (the 
incarnation of all other sins in such a boy’s mind) which 
hindered him from doing so with all his heart. 


TOM BEGINS HIS LESSONS 


193 


The next day Tom was duly placed in the third form, 
and began his lessons in a corner of the big school. He 
found the work very easy, as he had been well grounded, 
and knew his grammar by heart; and, as he had no 
intimate companion to make him idle (East and his other 
School-house friends being in the lower fourth, the form 
above him), soon gained golden opinions from his mas- 
ter, who said he was placed too low, and should be put 
out at the end of the half-year. So all went well with 
him in school, and he wrote the most flourishing letters 
home to his mother, full of his own success and the 
unspeakable delights of a public school. 

In the house, too, all went well. The end of the half- 
year was drawing near, which kept everybody in a good 
humor, and the house was ruled well and strongly by 
Warner and Brooke. True, the general system was 
rough and hard, and there was bullying in nooks and 
corners, bad signs for the future; but it never got 
further, or dared show itself openly, stalking about the 
passages and hall and bedrooms, and making the life of 
the small boys a continual fear. 

Tom, as a new boy, was of right excused fagging 
for the first month, but in his enthusiasm for his new' 
life this privilege hardly pleased him; and East and 
others of his young friends discovering this, kindly 
allowed him to indulge his fancy, and take their turns 
at night fagging and cleaning studies. These were 
the principal duties of the fags in the house. From 
supper until nine o’clock, three fags taken in order 
stood in the passages, and answered any praepostor who 
called Fag, racing to the door, the last comer having 
to do the work. This consisted generally of going to 
the buttery for beer and bread and cheese (for the great 
men did not sup with the rest, but had each his own 
allowance in his study or the fifth-form room), cleaning 


194 


HOUSE FAGGING 


candlesticks and putting in new candles, toasting cheese, 
bottling beer, and carrying messages about the house ; 
and Tom, in the first blush of his hero-worship, felt it 
a high privilege to receive orders from, and be the bearer 
of the supper of, old Brooke. And besides this night 
work each praepostor had three or four fags specially 
allotted to him, of whom he was supposed to be the 
guide, philosopher, and friend, and who in return for 
these gobd offices had to clean out his study every morn- 
ing by turns, directly after first lesson and before he 
returned from breakfast. And the pleasure of seeing 
the great men’s studies, and looking at their pictures, 
and peeping into their books, made Tom a ready sub- 
stitute for any boy who was too lazy to do his own work. 
And so he soon gained the character of a good-natured, 
willing fellow, who was ready to do a turn for any one. 

In all the games, too, he joined with all his heart, and 
soon became well versed in all the mysteries of football, 
by continued practice at the School-house little-side, 
which played daily. 

The only incident worth recording here, however, was 
the first run at hare-and-hounds. On the last Tuesday 
but one of the half-year, he was passing through the 
hall after dinner, when he was hailed with shouts from 
Tadpole and several other fags seated at one of the long 
tables, the chorus of which was, “ Come and help us tear 
up scent.” 

Tom approached the table in obedience to the mys- 
terious summons, always ready to help, and found the 
party engaged in tearing up old newspapers, copy- 
books, and magazines, into small pieces, with which they 
were filling four large canvas bags. 

“It’s the turn of our house to find scent for big-side 
hare-and-hounds,” exclaimed Tadpole ; “ tear away, 
there’s no time to lose before calling-over.” 


HAEE-AND-EO UNDS 


195 


“ I think it’s a great shame,” said another small boy, 
“to have such a hard run for the last day.” 

“Which run is it.^” said Tadpole. 

“ Oh, the Barby run, I hear,” answered the other ; 
“ nine miles at least, and hard ground ; no chance of get- 
ting in at the finish unless you’re a first-rate scud.” 

“Well, I’m going to have a try,” said Tadpole; “it’s 
the last run of the half; and if a fellow gets in at the 
end, big-side stands ale and bread and cheese, and a bowl 
of punch; and the Cock’s such a famous place for ale.” 

“ I should like to try, too,” said Tom. 

“ Well, then, leave your waistcoat behind, and listen 
at the door, after calling-over, and you’ll hear where the 
meet is.” 

After calling-over, sure enough, there were two boys 
at the door, calling out, “ Big-side hare-and-hounds meet 
at White Hall;” and Tom, having girded himself with 
leather strap, and left all superfluous clothing behind, 
set off* for White Hall, an old gable-ended house some 
quarter of a mile from the town, with East, whom he 
had persuaded to join, notwithstanding his prophecy 
that they could never get in, as it was the hardest run 
of the year. 

At the meet they found some forty or fifty boys; and 
Tom felt sure, from having seen many of them run at 
football, that he and East were more likely to get in 
than they. 

After a few minutes’ waiting, two well-known run- 
ners, chosen for the hares, buckled on the four bags 
filled with scent, compared their watches with those of 
young Brooke and Thorne, and started off at a long 
slinging trot across the fields in the direction of Barby. 

Then the hounds clustered round Thorne, who 
explained shortly, “They’re to have six minutes’ law. 
We run into the Cock, and every one who comes in within 


196 


TEE MEET 


a quarter of an hour of the hares’ll be counted, if he has 
been round Barby church.” Then came a minute’s pause 
or so, and then the watches are pocketed, and the pack is 
led through the gateway into the field which the hares 
had first crossed. Here they break into a trot, scatter- 
ing over the field to find the first traces of the scent which 
the hares throw out as they go along. The old hounds 
make straight for the likely points, and in a minute a 
cry of “forward” comes from one of them, and the 
whole pack quickening their pace make for the spot, 
while the boy who hit the scent first, and the two or three 
nearest to him, are over the first fence, and making play 
along the hedgerow in the long grass-field beyond. The 
rest of the pack rush at the gap already made, and 
scramble through, jostling one another. “Forward” 
again, before they are half through; the pace quickens 
into a sharp run, the tail hounds all straining to get up 
with the lucky leaders. They are gallant hares, and the 
scent lies thick right across another meadow and into a 
ploughed field, where the pace begins to tell ; then over 
a good wattle with a ditch on the other side, and down 
a large pasture studded with old thorns, which slopes 
down to the first brook ; the great Leicestershire sheep 
charge away across the field as the pack come racing 
down the slope. The brook is a small one, and the scent 
lies right ahead up the opposite slope, and as thick as 
ever; not a turn or a check to favor the tail hounds, who 
strain on, now trailing in a long line, many a youngster 
beginning to drag his legs heavily, and feel his heart 
beat like a hammer, and the bad plucked ones thinking 
that after all it isn’t worth while to keep it up. 

Tom, East, and the Tadpole had a good start, and 
are well up for such young hands, and after rising the 
slope and crossing the next field, find themselves up 
with the leading hounds, who have overrun the scent and 


TEE FIRST CHECK 


197 


are trying back; they have come a mile and a half in 
about eleven minutes, a pace which shows tliat it is the 
last day. About twenty-five of the original starters only 
show here, the rest having already given in ; the leaders 
are busy making casts into the fields on the left and 
right, and the others get tlieir second winds. 

Ihen comes the cry of “forward” again, from young 
Brooke, trom the extreme left, ai.d the pack settles down 
to work again steadily and doggedly, the whole keeping 
pretty well together. The scent, though still good, is 
not so thick; there is no need of that, for in this part 
of the run every one knows the line which must be taken, 
and so there are no casts to be made, but good downright 
running and fencing to be done. All who are now up 
mean coming in, and they come to the foot of Barby 
Hill without losing more than two or three more of the 
pack. This last straight two miles and a half is always 
a vantage ground for the hounds, and the hares know it 
well; they are generally viewed on the side of Barby 
Hill, and all eyes are on the lookout for them toda} . 
But not a sign of them appears, so now will be the hard 
work for the hounds, and there is nothing for it but to 
cast about for the scent, for it is now the hares’ turn, and 
they may baffle the pack dreadfully in the next two miles. 

Ill fares it now with our youngsters that they are 
School-house boys, and so follow jmung Brooke; for he 
takes the wide casts round to the left, conscious of his 
own powers, and loving the hard work. For if ^mu 
would consider for a moment, Amu small boys, you would 
remember that the Cock, where the run ends, and the 
good ale will be going, lies far out to the right on the 
Dunchurch-road, so that every cast you take to the left 
is so much extra work., And at this stage of the run, 
when the evening is closing in already, no one remarks 
whether you run a little cunning or not, so you should 


198 


NO GO 


stick to those crafty hounds who keep edging away 
to the right, and not follow a prodigal like young 
Brooke, whose legs are twice as long as yours and of 
cast-iron, wholly indifferent to two or three miles more 
or less. Plowever, they struggle after him, sobbing and 
plunging along, Tom and East pretty close, and Tad- 
pole, whose big head begins to pull him down, some 
thirty yards behind. 

Now comes a brook, with stiff clay banks, from which 
they can hardly drag their legs; and they hear faint 
cries for help from the wretched Tadpole, who has fairl}" 
stuck fast. But they have too little run left in themselves 
to pull up for their own brothers. Three fields more, 
and another check, and then “forward” called away 
to the extreme right. 

The two bays’ souls die within them; they can never 
do it. Young Brooke thinks so, too, and says kindly, 
“You’ll cross a lane after next field, keep down it, and 
you’ll hit the Dunchurch-road below the Cock,” and then 
steams away for the run in, in which he’s sure to be 
first, as if he were just starting. They struggle on 
across the next field, the “forwards” getting fainter 
and fainter, and then ceasing. The whole hunt is out 
of ear-shot, and all hope of coming in is over. 

“ Hang it all ! ” broke out East, as soon as he had 
got wind enough, pulling off his hat and mopping at 
his face, all spattered v/ith dirt and lined with sweat, 
from which went up a thick steam into the still, cold 
air. “ I told you how it would be. What a thick I 
w'as to come! Here we are dead beat, and yet I know 
we’re close to the run in, if we knew the country.” 

“Well,” said Tom, mopping away, and gulping down 
his disappointment, “it can’t be helped. We did our 
best, anyhow. Hadn’t we better find this lane, and go 
down it as young Brooke told us.?” 


THE REACTION 


199 


“I suppose so — nothing else for it,” grunted East. 
“If ever I go out last day again,” growl — growl — 
growl. 

So they tried back slowly and sorrowfully, and found 
the lane, and went limping down it, plashing in the 
cold, puddly ruts, and beginning to feel how the run 
had taken it out of them. The evening closed in fast, 
and clouded over, dark, cold, and dreary. 

“ I say, it must be locking-up, I should think,” re- 
marked East, breaking the silence; “it’s so dark.” 

“What if we’re late.?” said Tom. 

“ No tea, and sent up to the Doctor,” answered East. 

The thought didn’t add to their cheerfulness. Pres- 
ently a faint halloo was heard from an adjoining field. 
They answered it and stopped, hoping for some com- 
petent rustic to guide them, when over a gate some 
twenty yards ahead crawded the wretched Tadpole, in 
a state of collapse; he had lost a shoe in the brook, 
and been groping after it up to his elbows on the stiff, 
wet clay, and a more miserable creature in the shape 
of boy seldom has been seen. 

The sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered them, for 
he w^as some degrees more wretched than they. They 
also cheered him, as he w^as now no longer under the 
dread of passing his night alone in the fields. And so 
in better heart, the three plashed painfully dowm the 
never-ending lane. At last it widened, just as utter 
darkness set in, and they came out on to a turnpike 
road, and there paused bewildered, for they had lost 
all bearings, and knew not wiiether to turn to the right 
or left. 

Luckily for them they had not to decide, for lum- 
bering along the road, w ith one lamp lighted, and two 
spavined horses in the shafts, came a heavy coach, which 


200 


CONSEQUEJSWES 


after a moment’s suspense they recognized as the Oxford 
coach, the redoubtable Pig and Whistle. 

It lumbered slowly up, and the boys, mustering their 
last run, caught it as it passed, and began scrambling 
up behind, in w^hich exploit East missed his footing and 
fell flat on his nose along the%*oad. Then the others 
hailed the old scarecrow^ of a coachman, w^ho pulled up 
and agreed to take them in for a shilling ; so there they 
sat on the back seat, drubbing with their heels, and their 
teeth chattering with cold, and jogged into Rugby some 
forty minutes after locking-up. 

Five minutes afteiwvards, three small, limping, shiv- 
ering figures steal along through the Doctor’s garden, 
and into the house by the servants’ entrance (all the 
other gates have been closed long since), where the first 
thing they light upon in the passage is old Thomas, 
ambling along, candle in one hand and keys in the other, j 
He stops and examines their condition with a grim 
smile. “ Ah ! East, Hall, and Brown, late for locking- 
up. Must go to the Doctor’s study at once.” i 

“Well, but, Thomas, mayn’t w^e go and wash first j 
You can put down the time, you know.” 

“ Doctor’s study d’rectly you come in — that’s the 
orders,” replied old Thomas, motioning toward the I 
stairs at the end of the passage which led up into the 
Doctor’s house; and the boys turned ruefully down it, 
not cheered by the old verger’s muttered remark, “What 
a pickle they boys be in ! ” Thomas referred to their 
faces and habiliments, but they construed it as indicating 
the Doctor’s state of mind. Upon the short flight of i 
stairs they paused to hold counsel. 

“ Who’ll go in first ? ” inquired Tadpole. 

“You — you’re the senior,” answered East. 

“Catch me — look at the state I’m in,” rejoined Hall, 


WHO SHALL BELL THE CAT 


201 


showing the arms of his jacket. “I must get behind 
you two.” 

“Well, but look at me,” said East, indicating the 
mass of clay behind which he was standing ; “ I’m worse 
than you, two to one ; you might grow cabbages on 
my trousers.” 

“ That’s all down below, and you can keep your legs 
behind the sofa,” said Hall. 

“Here, Brown, you’re the show-figure — you must 
lead.” 

“But my face is all muddy,” argued Tom. 

“ Oh, we’re all in one boat for that matter ; but come 
on, we’re only making it worse, dawdling here.” 

“Well, just give us a brush, then,” said Tom; and 
they began trying to rub off the superfluous dirt from 
each other’s jackets, but it w^as not drj^ enough, and the 
rubbing made it wmrse ; so in despair they pushed 
through the swing door at the head of the stairs, and 
found themselves in the Doctor’s hall. 

“ That’s the library door,” said East, in a whisper, 
pushing Tom forwards. The sound of merry voices and 
laughter came from within, and his first hesitating knock 
was unanswered. But at the second, the Doctor’s voice 
said, “Come in;” and Tom turned the handle, and he, 
with the others behind him, sidled into the room. 

The Doctor looked up from his task; he w^as working 
away with a great chisel at the bottom of a boy’s sailing- 
boat, the lines of which he was no doubt fashioning on 
the model of one of Nicias’ galleys. Round him stood 
three or four children ; the candles burnt brightly on 
a large table at the further end, covered with books 
and papers, and a great fire threw a ruddy glow over 
the rest of the room. All looked so kindly, and homely, 
and comfortable, that the boys took heart in a moment, 
and Tom advanced from behind the shelter of the great 


202 


TREIE EECEPTION 


sofa. The doctor nodded to the children, who went out, 
casting curious and amused glances at the three young 
scarecrows. 

“Well, my little fellows,” began the Doctor, drawing 
himself up with his back to the fire, the chisel in one 
hand, and his coat-tails in the other, and his eyes twink- 
ling as he looked them over, “what makes you so late.^” 

“ Please, sir, we’ve been out big-side hare-and-hounds, 
and lost our way.” 

“Hah! you couldn’t keep up, I suppose.?” 

“Well, sir,” said East, stepping out, and not liking 
that the Doctor should think lightly of his running 
powers, “ we got round Barby all right, but then ” — 

“ Why, what a state you’re in, my boy I ” interrupted 
the Doctor, as the pitiful condition of East’s garments 
was fully revealed to him. 

“That’s the fall I got, sir, in the road,” said East, 
looking down at himself ; “ the Old Pig came by — ” 

“The what.?” said the Doctor. 

“The Oxford coach, sir,” explained Hall. 

“ Hah I yes, the Regulator,” said the Doctor. 

“And I tumbled on my face, trying to get up 
behind,” went on East. 

“You’re not hurt, I hope.?” said the Doctor. 

“Oh, no, sir.” 

“Well, now, run upstairs, all three of you, and get 
clean things on, and then tell the housekeeper to give 
you some tea. You’re too young to try such long 
runs. Let Warner know I’ve seen you. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night, sir.” And away scuttled the three boys 
in high glee. 

“What a brick, not to give us even twenty lines to 
learn ! ” said the Tadpole, as they reached their bed- 
room; and in half an hour afterwards they were sitting 
by the fire in the housekeeper’s room at a sumptuous 


LAST DATS 


203 


tea, with cold meat, “ twice as good a grub as we should 
have got in the hall,” as the Tadpole remarked with 
a grin, his mouth full of buttered toast. All their griev- 
ances were forgotten, and they were resolving to go out 
the first big-side next half, and thinking hare-and-hounds 
the most delightful of games, 

A day or two afterwards the great passage outside 
the bedrooms was cleared of the boxes and portman- 
teaus, which went down to be packed by the matron ; 
and great games of chariot- racing, and cock-fighting, and 
bolstering, went on in the vacant space, the sure sign 
of a closing half-year. 

Then came the making up of parties for the journey 
home, and Tom joined a party who were to hire a coach, 
and post with four horses to Oxford. 

Then the last Saturday, on which the Doctor came 
round to each form to give out the prizes, and hear 
the masters’ last reports of how they and their charges 
had been conducting themselves; and Tom, to his huge 
delight, was praised, and got his remove into the lower 
fourth, in which all his School-house friends were. 

On the next Tuesday morning, at four o’clock, hot 
coffee was going on in the housekeeper’s and matron’s 
rooms ; boys wrapped in great coats and mufflers were 
swallowing hasty mouthfuls, rushing about, tumbling 
over luggage, and asking questions all at once of the 
matron; outside the school gates were drawn up several 
chaises and the four-horse coach which Tom’s party 
had chartered, the post-boys in their best jackets and 
breeches, and a cornopean player, hired for the occasion, 
blowing away “A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,” 
waking all peaceful inhabitants half-way down the High 
Street. 

Every minute the bustle and hubbub increased, porters 
staggered about with boxes and bags, the cornopean 


204 


OLD THOMAS 


played louder. Old Thomas sat in his den with a great 
yellow bag by his side, out of which he was paying 
journey money to each boy, comparing, by the light of 
a solitary dip;" the dirty crabbed little list in his own 
handwriting with the Doctor’s list and the amount of 
his cash ; his head was on one side, his mouth screwed 
up, and his spectacles dim from early toil. He had 
prudently locked the door, and carried on his operations 
solely through the window, or he would have been driven 
wild, and lost all his money. 

“ Thomas, do be quick, we shall never catch the High- 
flyer at Dunchurch.” 

“ That’s your money, all right, Green.” 

“ Hullo, Thomas, the Doctor said I was to have two- 
pound-ten ; you’ve only given me two pound.” (I fear 
that Master Green is not confining himself strictly to 
truth.) Thomas turns his head more on one side than 
ever, and spells away at the dirty list. Green is forced 
away from the window. 

“ Here, Thomas, never mind him, mine’s thirty shil- 
lings.” “ And mine, too,” “ And mine,” shouted others. 

One way or another, the party to which Tom belonged 
all got packed and paid, and sallied out to the gates, 
the cornopean playing frantically “Drops of Brandy,” 
in allusion, probably, to the slight potations in which 
the musician and post-boys had been already indulging. 
All luggage was carefully stowed away inside the coach 
and in the front and hind boots, so that not a hat-box 
was visible outside. Five or six small boys, with pea- 
shooters, and the cornopean player, got up behind; 
in front, the big boys, mostly smoking, not for pleasure, 
but because the}^ are now gentlemen at large — and this 
is the most correct public method of notifying the fact. 

“ Robinson’s coach will be down the road in a minute 
— it has gone up to Bird’s to pick up; we’ll wait till 


OFF 


205 


they’re close, and make a race of it,” says the leader. 
“ Now, boys, half a sovereign apiece if you beat ’em 
into Dunchurch by one hundred yards.” 

“ All right, sir,” shouted the grinning post-boys. 

Down comes Robinson’s coach in a minute or two, 
with a rival cornopean ; and away go the two vehicles, 
horses galloping, boys cheering, horns playing loud. 
There is a special Providence over school-boys as well 
as sailors, or they must have upset twenty times in the 
first five miles ; sometimes actually abreast of one an- 
other, and the boys on the roofs exchanging volleys of 
peas, now nearly running over a post-chaise which had 
started before them, now half-way up a bank, now with 
a wheel-and-a-half over a yawning ditch ; and all this in 
a dark morning, with nothing but their own lamps to 
guide them. Plowever, it’s all over at last, and they 
have run over nothing but an old pig in Southam Street ; 
the last peas are distributed in the Corn Market at 
Oxford, where they arrive between eleven and twelve, and 
sit down to a sumptuous breakfast at the Angel, which 
they are made to pay for accordingly. Here the party 
breaks up, all going now different ways; and Tom orders 
out a chaise and pair as grand as a lord, though he has 
scarcely five shillings left in his pocket, and more than 
twent}’^ miles to get home. 

“ Where to, sir.?^ ” 

“Red Lion, Farringdon,” says Tom, giving ostler a 
shilling. 

“ All right, sir. Red Lion, Jem,” to the post-boy, and 
Tom rattles away toward home. At Farringdon, being 
known to the innkeeper, he gets that worthy to pay for 
the Oxford horses, and forward him in another chaise at 
once; and so the gorgeous young gentleman arrives at 
the paternal mansion, and Squire Brown looks rather 
blue at having to pay two-pound ten-shillings for the 


206 


BULGE DOMUM 


posting expenses from Oxford. But the boy’s intense 
joy at getting home, and the wonderful health he is in, 
and the good character he brings, and the brave stories 
he tells of Rugby, its doings and delights, soon mollif}^ 
the Squire, and three happier people didn’t sit down to 
dinner that day in England (it is the boy’s first dinner 
at six o’clock at home, great promotion already) than 
the Squire, and his wife, and Tom Brown, at the end of 
his first half-year at Rugby. 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 

They are slaves who will not choose 
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse. 

Rather than in silence shrink 
From the truth they needs must think; 

They are slaves who dare not be 
In the right with two or three. 

Lowell, Stanzas on Freedom. 

The lower-fourth form, in which Tom found himself 
at the beginning of the next half-year, was the largest 
form in the lower school, and numbered upwards of forty 
boj^s. Young gentlemen of all ages, from nine to fif- 
teen, were to be found there, who expended such part 
of their energies as was devoted to Latin and Greek upon 
a book of Livy, the Bucolics of Virgil, and the Hecuba 
of Euripides, which were ground out in small daily por- 
tions. The driving of this unlucky lower fourth must 
have been grievous work to the unfortunate master, for 
it was the most unhappily constituted of any in the 
school. Here stuck the great stupid boys, who for the 
life of them could never master the accidence ; the objects 
alternately of mirth and terror to the youngsters, who 
were daily taking them up, and laughing at them in 
lesson, and getting kicked by them for so doing in 
play-hours. There were no less than three unhappy 
fellows in tail-coats, with incipient down on their chins, 
Avhom the Doctor and the master of the form were 
always endeavoring to hoist into the upper-school, but 

207 


208 


TEE LOWER FOURTH 


whose parsing and construing resisted the most well- 
meant shoves. Then came the mass of the form, boys 
of eleven and twelve, the most mischievous and reckless 
age of British youth, of whom East and Tom Brown 
were fair specimens. As full of tricks as monkeys, and 
of excuses as Irishwomen, making fun of their master, 
one another, and their lessons, Argus himself would have 
been puzzled to keep an eye on them ; and as for making 
them steady or serious for half an hour together, it was 
simply hopeless. The remainder of the form consisted 
of young prodigies of nine and ten, who were going up 
the school at the rate of a form a half-year, all boys’ 
hands and wits being against them in their progress. 
It would have been one man’s work to see that the pre- 
cocious youngsters had fair play; and as the master 
had a good deal besides to do, they hadn’t, and were 
forever being shoved down three or four places, their 
verses stolen, their books inked, their jackets whitened, 
and their lives otherwise made a burden to them. 

The lower fourth and all the forms below it were 
heard in the great school, and were not trusted to pre- 
pare their lessons before coming in, but were whipped 
into school three quarters of an hour before the lesson 
began by their respective masters, and there scattered 
about on the benches, with dictionary and grammar, 
hammered out their twenty lines of Virgil and Euripides 
in the midst of Babel. The masters of the lower-school 
walked up and down the great school together during 
this three quarters of an hour, or sat in their desks 
reading or looking over copies, and keeping such order 
as was possible. But the lower fourth was just now an 
overgrown form, too large for any one man to attend 
to properly, and consequently the elysium or ideal form 
of the young scapegraces who formed the staple of it. 

Tom, as has been said, had come up from the third with 


TOM’S FALL 


209 


a good character, but the temptations of the lower fourth 
soon proved too strong for him, and he rapidly fell away, 
and became as unmanageable as the rest. For some 
weeks, indeed, he succeeded in maintaining the appear- 
ance of steadiness, and was looked upon favorably by 
his new master, whose eyes were first opened by the 
following little incident. 

Besides the desk which the master himself occupied 
there was another large unoccupied desk in the corner 
of the great school, which was untenanted. To rush 
and seize upon this desk, which was ascended by three 
steps, and held four boys, was the great object of ambi- 
tion of the lower fourthers ; and the contentions for the 
occupation of it bred such disorder that at last the 
master forbade its use altogether. This of course was 
a challenge to the more adventurous spirits to occupy 
it; and as it was capacious enough for two boys to lie 
hid there completely, it was seldom that it remained 
empty, notwithstanding the veto. Small holes were cut 
in the front, through which the occupants watched the 
masters as they walked up and down ; and as lesson 
time approached, one boy at a time stole out and down 
the steps, as the masters’ backs were turned, and mingled 
with the general crowd on the forms below. Tom and 
East had successfully occupied the desk some half dozen 
times, and were grown so reckless that they were in the 
habit of playing small games with fives’-balls inside, 
when the masters were at the other end of the big school. 
One day, as ill-luck would have it, the game became 
more exciting than usual, and the ball slipped through 
East’s fingers, and rolled slowly doAvn the steps, and out 
into the middle of the school, just as the masters turned 
in their walk and faced round upon the desk. The young 
delinquents watched their master through the lookout 
holes march slowly down the school straight upon their 


210 


MONTHLY EXAMINATIONS 


retreat, while all the boys in the neighborhood of course 
stopped their work to look on ; and not only were they 
ignominiously drawn out, and caned over the hand then 
and there, but their characters for steadiness w^ere gone 
from that time. However, as they only shared the fate 
of some three-fourths of the rest of the form, this did 
not weigh heavily upon them. 

In fact, the only occasions on w^hich they cared about 
the matter were the monthly examinations, when the 
Doctor came round to examine their form, for one 
long awful hour, in the work which they had done in 
the preceding month. The second monthly examina- 
tion came round soon after Tom’s fall, and it was with 
anything but lively anticipations that he and the other 
lower-fourth boys came in to prayers on the morning 
of the examination day. 

Prayers and calling-over seemed twice as short as 
usual, and before they could get construes of a tithe 
of the hard passages marked in the margin of their 
books they were all seated round, and the Doctor was 
standing in the middle, talking in whispers to the master. 
Tom couldn’t hear a word which passed, and never lifted 
his eyes from his book; but he knew by a sort of mag- 
netic instinct that the Doctor’s under lip was coming 
out, and his eye beginning to burn, and his gown getting 
gathered up more and more tightly in his left hand. The 
suspense w^as agonizing, and Tom knew that he was sure 
on such occasions to make an example of the School- 
house boys. “ If he would only begin,” thought Tom, 

“ I shouldn’t mind.” 

At last the whispering ceased, and the name which 
was called out was not Brown. He looked up for a . 
moment, but the Doctor’s face was too awful: Tom 
wouldn’t have met his eye for all he was worth, and j 
buried himself in his book again. j 


TBISTE LUPUS 


211 


The boy who was called up first was a clever, merry, 
School-house boy, one of their set ; he was some con- 
nection of the Doctor’s, and a great favorite, and ran 
in and out of his house as he liked, and so was selected 
for the first victim. 

“ Triste lupus stabulis,” began the luckless youngster, 
and stammered through some eight or ten lines. 

“ There, that will do,” said the Doctor ; “ now con- 
strue.” 

On common occasions, the boy could have construed 
the passage well enough, probably, but now his head 
was gone. 

“Triste lupus, the sorrowful wolf,” he began. 

A shudder ran through the whole form, and the 
Doctor’s wrath fairly boiled over; he made three steps 
up to the construer, and gave him a good box on the ear. 
The blow was not a hard one, but the boy was so taken 
by surprise that he started back; the form caught the 
back of his knees, and over he went on to the floor behind. 
There was a dead silence over the whole school ; never 
before and never again while Tom was at school did 
the Doctor strike a boy in lesson. The provocation 
must have been great. However, the victim had saved 
his form for that occasion, for the Doctor turned to 
the top bench, and put on the best boys for the rest of 
the hour; and though, at the end of the lesson, he gave 
them all such a rating as they did not forget, this 
terrible field-day passed over without any severe visita- 
tions in the shape of punishments or floggings. Forty 
young scapegraces expressed their thanks to the “ sor- 
rowful wolf” in their different ways before second 
lesson. 

But a character for steadiness once gone is not easily 
recovered, as Tom found; and for years afterward he 
went up the school without it, and the masters’ hands 


212 


MISBULE AND ITS CAUSES 


were against him, and his against them. And he regardeci 
them, as a matter of course, as his natural enemies. 

Matters were not so comfortable either in the house 
as they had been, for old Brooke left at Christmas, a^id 
one or two others of the sixth-form boys at the follow- 
ing Easter. Their rule had been rough, but strong 
and just in the main, and a higher standard was begin- 
ning to be set up; in fact, there had been a short 
foretaste of the good time which followed some years 
later. Just now, however, all threatened to return into 
darkness and chaos again. For the new praepostors were 
either small young boys, whose cleverness had carried 
them up to the top of the school, while in strength of 
body and character they were not yet fit for a share in 
the government; or else big fellows of the wrong sort, 
boys whose friendships and tastes had a downward ten- 
dency, who had not caught the meaning of their position 
and work, and felt none of its responsibilities. So, under 
this no-government the School-house began to see bad 
times. The big fifth-form boys, who were a sporting and 
drinking set, soon began to usurp power, and to fag 
the little boys as if they were praepostors, and to bully 
and oppress any who showed signs of resistance. The 
bigger sort of sixth-form boys just described soon made 
common cause with the fifth, while the smaller sort, ham- 
pered by their colleagues’ desertion to the enemy, could 
not make head against them. So the fags were without 
their lawful masters and protectors, and ridden over 
rough-shod by a set of boys whom they were not bound 
to obey, and whose only right over them stood in their 
bodily powers ; and, as old Brooke had prophesied, the 
house by degrees broke up into small sets and parties, 
and lost the strong feeling of fellowship which he set 
so much store by, and with it much of the prowess in 


THE OLD BOY MOEALIZETH THEREON 


213 


games, and the lead in all school matters, which he had 
done so much to keep up. 

In no place in the world has individual character more 
weight than at a public school. Remember this, I beseech 
you, all you boys who are getting into the upper forms. 
Now is the time in all your lives, probably, when you 
may have more wide influence for good or evil on the 
society you live in than you ever can have again. Quit 
yourselves like men, then; speak up, and strike out, if 
necessary, for whatsoever is true, and manly, and lovely, 
and of good report ; never try to be popular, but only 
to do your duty and help others to do theirs, and you 
may leave the tone of feeling in the school higher than 
you found it, and so be doing good, which no living 
soul can measure, to generations of your countrymen 
yet unborn. For boys follow one another in herds like 
sheep, for good or evil; they hate thinking, and have 
rarely any settled principles. Every school, indeed, has 
its own traditionary standard of right and wrong, which 
cannot be transgressed with impunity, marking certain 
things as low and blackguard, and certain others as 
lawful and right. This standard is ever varying, though 
it changes only slowly, and little by little; and, subject 
only to such standard, it is the leading boys for the 
time being who give the tone to all the rest, and make 
the school either a noble institution for the training of 
Christian Englishmen, or a place where a young boy 
will get more evil than he would if he were turned out 
to make his wa}^ in London streets, or anything between 
these two extremes. 

The change for the worse in the School-house, how- 
ever, didn’t press very heavily on our youngsters for 
some time; they were in a good bedroom, where slept 
the only praepostor left who was able to keep thorough 


214 


THE SHOE BEGINS TO PINCH 


order, and their study was in his passage; 'so, though 
they were fagged more or less, and occasionally kicked 
or cuffed by the bullies, they were, on the whole, well 
off ; and the fresh, brave school life, so full of games, 
adventures, and good fellowship, so ready at forgetting, 
so capacious at enjoying, so bright at forecasting, out- 
weighed a thousand-fold their troubles with the master 
of their form, and the occasional ill-usage of the big 
boys in the house. It w^asn’t till some year or so after 
the events recorded above that the prjepostor of their 
room and passage left. None of the other sixth-form 
hoys would move into their passage ; and, to the disgust 
and indignation of Tom and East, one morning after 
breakfast they were seized upon by Flashman, and made 
to carry down his books and furniture into the unoccu- 
pied study which he had taken. From this time they 
began to feel the weight of the tj^ranny of Flashman 
and his friends, and, now that trouble had come home 
to their own doors, began to look out for sympathizers 
and partners amongst the rest of the fags; and meet- 
ings of the oppressed began to be held, and murmurs 
to arise, and plots to be laid, as to how they should free 
themselves and be avenged on their enemies. 

While matters were in this state, East and Tom were 
one evening sitting in their stud}^ They had done their 
work for first lesson, and Tom was in a brown study, 
brooding, like a young William Tell, upon the wrongs 
of fags in general, and his own in particular. 

‘‘I say. Scud,” said he at last, rousing himself to 
snuff the candle, “what right have the fifth-form boys 
to fag us as they do.^” 

“No more right than you have to fag them,” an- 
swered East, without looking up from an early number 
of Pickwick, which was just coming out, and which he 


BU JUSTING POINT 


215 


was luxuriously devouring, stretched on his back on the 
sofa. 

Tom relapsed into his brown study, and East went on 
reading and chuckling. The contrast of the boys’ faces 
would have given infinite amusement to a looker-on ; 
the one so solemn and big with mighty purpose, the 
other radiant and bubbling over with fun. 

“Do you know, old fellow, I’ve been thinking it over 
a good deal,” began Tom again. 

“ Oh, yes, I know, fagging you are thinking of. 
Hang it all — but listen here, Tom, — here’s fun. Mr. 
Winkle’s horse — ” 

“ And I’ve made up my mind,” broke in Tom, “ that 
I won’t fag except for the sixth.” 

“ Quite right, too, my boy,” cried East, putting his 
finger on the place and looking up ; “ but a pretty peck 
of troubles you’ll get into, if you’re going to play that 
game. However, I’m all for a strike myself, if we can 
get others to join — it’s getting too bad.” 

“ Can’t we get some sixth-form fellow to take it up.? ” 
asked Tom. 

“Well, perhaps we might; Morgan would interfere, 
I think. Only,” added East, after a moment’s pause, 
“ you see we should have to tell him about it, and that’s 
against school principles. Don’t you remember what 
old Brooke said about learning to take our own parts.?” 

“Ah, I wish old Brooke were back again — it was all 
right in his time.” 

“Why, yes, you see then the strongest and best fel- 
lows were in the sixth, and the fifth-form fellows were 
afraid of them, and they kept good order ; but now our 
sixth-form fellows are too small, and the fifth don’t care 
for them, and do what they like in the house.” 

“And so we get a double set of masters,” cried Tom 
indignantly; “the lawful ones, who are responsible to 


2]6 


THE EXPLOSION 


the Doctor at any rate, and the unlawful, — the tyrants, 
who are responsible to nobody.” 

“ Down with the tyrants ! ” cried East ; “ I’m all for 
law and order, and hurra for a revolution.” 

“ I shouldn’t mind if it were only for young Brooke 
now,” said Tom, “he’s such a good-hearted, gentle- 
manly fellow^, and ought to be in the sixth — I’d do 
anything for him. But that blackguard Elashman, who 
never speaks to one without a kick or an oath — ” 

“ The cowardly brute,” broke in East, “ how I hate 
liim ! And he knows it, too ; he knows that you and 
I think him a coward. What a bore that he’s got a 
study in this passage ! Don’t you hear them now at 
supper in his den.? Brandy punch going. I’ll bet. I 
wish the Doctor would come out and catch him. We 
must change our study as soon as we can.” 

“Change or no change. I’ll never fag for him again,” 
said Tom, thumping the table. 

“ Fa-a-a-ag ! ” sounded along the passage from Flash- 
man’s study. The two boys looked at one another in 
silence. It had struck nine, so the regular night-fags 
had left duty, and they w^ere the nearest to the supper 
party. East sat up, and began to look comical, as he 
always did under difficulties. 

“Fa-a-a-ag!” again. No answer. 

“ Here, Brown ! East I you cursed young skulks,” 
roared out Flashman, coming to his, open door, “I know 
you’re in — no shirking.” 

Tom stole to their door, and drew the bolts as noise- 
lessly as he could ; East blew out the candle. “ Barri- 
cade the first,” whispered he. “Now, Tom, mind, no 
surrender.” 

“ Trust me for that,” said Tom between his teeth. 

In another minute they heard the supper part}^ turn 
out and come down the passage to their door. They 


TKE SIEGE 


217 


held their breaths, and heard whispering, of which they 
only made out Flashman’s words, “I know the young 
brutes are in.” 

Then came summonses to open, which being unan- 
swered, the assault commenced; luckily the door was a 
good' strong oak one, and resisted the united weight of 
Flashman’s party. A pause followed, and they heard a 
besieger remark, “They’re in safe enough — don’t you 
see how the door holds at top and bottom So the bolts 
must be drawn. We should have forced the lock long 
ago.” East gave Tom a nudge, to call attention to this 
scientific remark. 

Then came attacks on particular panels, one of which 
at last gave way to the repeated kicks; but it broke 
inwards, and the broken piece got jammed across, the 
door being lined with green baize, and couldn’t easily 
be removed from outside; and the besieged, scorning 
further concealment, strengthened their defences by 
pressing the end of their sofa against the door. So, 
after one or two more ineffectual efforts, Flashman & 
Co. retired, vowing vengeance in no mild terms. 

The first danger over, it only remained for the be- 
sieged to effect a safe retreat, as it was now near bed- 
time. They listened intently, and heard the supper 
party resettle themselves, and then gently drew back 
first one bolt and then the other. Presently the convivial 
noises began again steadily. “Now', then, stand by for a 
run,” said East, throwing the door wide open and rushing 
into the passage, closely follow'ed by Tom. They were 
too quick to be caught, but Flashman was on the look- 
out, and sent an empty pickle-jar whizzing after them, 
which narrowly missed Tom’s head, and broke into 
tw'enty pieces at the end of the passage. “ He wouldn’t 
mind killing one, if he w'asn’t caught,” said East, as they 
turned the corner. 


218 


A COUNSELOR OF THE REBELS 


There was no pursuit, so the two turned into the hall, 
where they found a knot of small boys round the fire. 
Their story was told — the war of independence had 
broken out — who would join the revolutionary forces.^ 
Several others present bound themselves not to fag for 
the fifth form at once. One or two only edged off, and 
left the rebels. What else could they do ? “ I’ve a good 
mind to go to the Doctor straight,” said Tom. 

‘‘That’ll never do — don’t you remember the levy of 
the school last half.^” put in another. 

In fact, that solemn assembly, a levy of the school, 
had been held, at which the captain of the school had 
got up, and, after premising that several instances had 
occurred of matters having been reported to the masters, 
that this was against public morality and school tradi- 
tion, that a levy of the sixth had been held on the subject, 
and they had resolved that the practice must be stopped 
at once, had given out that any boy, in whatever form, 
who should thenceforth appeal to a master, without hav- 
ing first gone to some praepostor and laid the case before 
him, should be thrashed publicly, and sent to Coventry. 

“Well, then, let’s try the sixth. Try Morgan,” sug- 
gested another. “No use” — “Blabbing won’t do,” was 
the general feeling. 

“I’ll give you fellows a piece of advice,” said a voice 
from the end of the halL They all turned round wuth a 
start, and the speaker got up from a bench on which 
he had been tying unobserved, and gave himself a shake ; 
he was a big, loose-made fellow, with huge limbs w^hich 
had grown too far through his jacket and trousers. 
“Don’t you go to anybody at all — you just stand out; 
say you won’t fag — they’ll soon get tired of licking 
you. I’ve tried it on years ago with their fore-runners.” 

“No! did you.^ tell us how it was,” cried a chorus 
of voices, as they clustered round him. 


*‘TRE MUCKEE’’ 


219 


“Well, just as it is with you. The fifth form would 
fag us, and I and some more struck, and we beat ’em. 
The good fellows left off directly, and the bullies who 
kept on soon got afraid.” 

“Was Flashman here then.^” 

“Yes! and a dirty little snivelling, sneaking fellow he 
was, too. He never dared join us, and used to toady 
the bullies by offering to fag for them, and peaching 
against the rest of us.” 

“Why wasn’t he cut then.?” said East. 

“Oh, toadies never get cut, they’re too useful. Be- 
sides, he has no end of great hampers from home, with 
wine and game in them; so he toadied and fed himself 
into favor.” 

The quarter to ten bell now rang, and the small boys 
went off upstairs, still consulting together, and praising 
their new counselor, who stretched himself out on the 
bench before the hall fire again. There he lay, a very 
queer specimen of boyhood, by name Diggs, and famil- 
iarly called “the Mucker.” He was young for his size, 
and a very clever fellow, nearly at the top of the fifth. 
His friends at home, having regard, I suppose, to his 
age, and not to his size and place in the school, hadn’t 
put him into tails; and even his jackets were always too 
small; and he had a talent for destroying clothes, and 
making himself look shabby. He wasn’t on terms with 
Flashman’s set, who sneered at his dress and ways behind 
his back, which he knew, and revenged himself by asking 
Elashman the most disagreeable questions, and treating 
him familiarly whenever a crowd of boys were round 
them. Neither was he intimate with any of the other 
bigger boys, who were warned off by his oddnesses, for 
he was a very queer fellow; besides, amongst other fail- 
ings, he had that of impecuniosity in a remarkable 
degree. He brought as much money as other boys to 


220 


THE WAR RAGES 


school, but got rid of it in no time, no one knew how. 
And then, being also reckless, borrowed from any one, 
and when his debts accumulated and creditors pressed, 
would have an auction in the hall of everything he 
possessed in the world, selling even his schoolbooks, 
candlestick, and study table. For weeks after one of 
these auctions, having rendered his study uninhabit- 
able, he would live about in the fifth-form room and hall, 
doing verses on old letter-backs and odd scraps of paper, 
and learning his lessons no one knew how. He never 
meddled with any little boy, and was popular with them, 
though they all looked on him with a sort of com- 
passion, and called him “poor Diggs,” not being able 
to resist appearances, or to disregard wholly even the 
sneers of their enemy Flashman. However, he seemed 
equally indifferent to the sneers of big boys and the 
pity of small ones, and lived his own queer life with 
much apparent enjoyment to himself. It is necessary 
to introduce Diggs thus particularly, as he not only did 
Tom and East good service in their present warfare, as 
is about to be told, but soon afterwards, when he got 
into the sixth, chose them for his fags, and excused them 
from study fagging, thereby earning unto himself 
eternal gratitude from them and all who are interested 
in their histor}^ 

And seldom had small boys more need of a friend, 
for the morning after the siege the storm burst upon 
the rebels in all its violence. Flashman laid wait, and 
caught Tom before second lesson, and receiving a point- 
blank “No,” when told to fetch his. hat, seized him and 
twisted his arm, and went through the other methods of 
torture in use. “ He couldn’t make me cry, though.” 
as Tom said triumphantly to the rest of the rebels, “ and 
I kicked his shins well, I know.” And soon it crept out 
that a lot of the fags were in league, and Flashman 


TBE LAtiT COMBATANTS 


‘121 


excited his associates to join him in bringing the young 
vagabonds to their senses ; and the house was filled witli 
constant chasings, and sieges, and lickings of all sorts; 
and in return, the bullies’ beds were pulled to pieces, and 
drenched with water, and their names written up on the 
walls wuth every insulting epithet which the fag inven- 
tion could furnish. The w’ar, in short, raged fiercely ; 
but soon, as Diggs had told them, all the better fellows 
in the fifth gave up trying to fag them, and public feel- 
ing began to set against Flashman and his tw^o or three 
intimates, and they w^ere obliged to keep their doings 
more secret, but, being thorough bad fellows, missed no 
opportunity of torturing in private. Flashman was an 
adept in all ways, but above all in the power of saying 
cutting and cruel things, and could often bring tears 
to the eyes of boys in this way which all the thrashings 
in the world wouldn’t have wrung from them. 

And as his operations were being cut short in other 
directions, he now devoted himself chiefly to Tom and 
East, who lived at his own door, and would force him- 
self into their study whenever he found a chance, and 
sit there, sometimes alone, sometimes with a companion, 
interrupting all their work, and exulting in the evident 
pain which every now and then he could see he was 
inflicting on one or the other. 

The storm had cleared the air for the rest of the 
house, and a better state of things now began than 
there had been since old Brooke had left ; but an angry- 
dark spot of thunder-cloud still hung over the end of 
the passage where Flashman’s study and that of East 
and Tom lay. 

He felt that they had been the first rebels, and that 
the rebellion had been to a great extent successful; but 
what above all stirred the hatred and bitterness of his 
heart against them was that in the frequent collisions 


222 


TRE WAR RAGES 


which there had been of late, they had openly called 
him coward and sneak, — the taunts were too true to 
be forgiven. While he was in the act of thrashing 
them, they would roar out instances of his funking at 
football, or shirking some encounter with a lout of half 
his own size. These things w'ere ah well enough known 
in the house; but to have his disgrace shouted out by 
small boys, to feel that they despised him, to be unable 
to silence them by any amount of torture, and to see 
the open laugh and sneer of his own associates (who 
were looking on, and took no trouble to hide their scorn 
from him, though they neither interfered with his bully- 
ing nor lived a bit the less intimately with him), made him 
beside himself. Come what might, he would make those 
boys’ lives miserable. So the strife settled down into 
a personal affair between Flashman and our youngsters ; 
a war to the knife, to be fought out in the little cockpit 
at the end of the bottom passage. 

Flashman, be it said, was about seventeen years old, 
and big and strong of his age. He played well at all 
games where pluck wasn’t much wanted, and managed 
generally to keep up appearances w'here it was; and 
having a bluff, off-hand manner, which passed for hearti- 
ness, and considerable powers of being pleasant when 
he liked, went down with the school in general for a 
good fellow enough. Even in the School-house, b}" dint 
of his command of money, the constant supply of good 
things which he kept up, and his adroit toadyism, he 
had managed to make himself not only tolerated, but 
rather popular amongst his own contemporaries ; al- 
though young Brooke scarcely spoke to him, and one or 
two others of the right sort showed their opinions of 
him whenever a chance offered. But the wrong sort 
happened to be in the ascendant just now, and so Flash- 
man was a formidable enemy for small boys. This soon 


DIGGS’ BANKliUPTCY 


223 


became plain enough. Flashman left no slander un- 
spoken, and no deed undone, which could in any way 
hurt his victims, or isolate them from the rest of the 
house. One by one most of the other rebels fell away 
from them, while Flashman’s cause prospered, and sev- 
eral other fifth-form boys began to look black at them 
and ill-treat them as they passed about the house. By 
keeping out of bounds, or at all events out of the house 
and quadrangle, all day, and carefully barring them- 
selves in at night. East and Tom managed to hold on 
without feeling very miserable; but it was as much as 
they could do. Greatly were they drawn then toward 
old Diggs, who, in an uncouth way, began to take a good 
deal of notice of them, and once or twice came to their 
study when Flashman was there, who immediately de- 
camped in consequence. The boys thought that Diggs 
must have been w^atching. 

When, therefore, about this time, an auction was one 
night announced to take place in the hall, at which, 
amongst the superfluities of other boys, all Diggs’ Pen- 
ates for the time being were going to the hammer. East 
and Tom laid their heads together, and resolved to devote 
their ready cash (some four shillings sterling) to redeem 
such articles as that sum would cover. Accordingly, they 
duly attended to bid, and Tom became the owner of two 
lots of Diggs’ things: lot 1, price one-and-threepence, 
consisting (as the auctioneer remarked) of a “valuable 
assortment of old metals,” in the shape of a mouse-trap, 
a cheese-toaster without a handle, and a saucepan; lot 
2, of a villainous, dirty tablecloth and green baize cur- 
tain ; while East, for one-and-sixpence, purchased a 
leather paper-case, with a lock but no key, once hand- 
some, but now much the worse for wear. But they had 
still the point to settle, of how to get Diggs to take the 
things without hurting his feelings. This they solved 


224 


THE DERBY LOTTERY 


by leaving them in his study, which was never locked 
when he was out. Diggs, who had attended the auction, 
remembered who had bought the lots, and came to their 
study soon after, and sat silent for some time, cracking 
his great red finger- joints. Then he laid hold of their 
verses, and began looking over and altering them, and 
at last got up, and, turning his back to them, said, 
‘‘You’re uncommon good-hearted little beggars, you two 
• — I value that paper-case, my sister gave it me last 
holidays — I won’t forget;” and so tumbled out into the 
passage, leaving them somewhat embarrassed, but not 
sorry that he knew what they had done. 

The next morning was Saturday, the day on which 
the allowances of one shilling a week were paid, an 
important event to spendthrift youngsters; and great 
was the disgust amongst the small fry to hear that 
all the allowances had been impounded for the Derby 
lottery. That great event in the English year, the 
Derby, was celebrated at Rugby in those days by many 
lotteries. It was not an improving custom, I own, gentle 
reader,^ and led to making books and betting and other 
objectionable results; hut when our great Houses of 
Palaver think it right to stop the nation’s business on 
that day, and many of the members bet heavily them- 
selves, can you blame us boys for following the example 
of our betters — at any rate we did follow^ it. First, 
there was the great school lottery, wFere the first prize 
was six or seven pounds; then each house had one or 
more separate lotteries. These were all nominally vol- 
untary, no boy being compelled to put in his shilling 
who didn’t choose to do so: but besides Flashman, there 
were three or four other fast sporting young gentle- 
men in the School-house, w^ho considered subscription a 
matter of duty ai^ necessity ; and so, to make their duty 
come easy to the small boys, quietly secured the allow- 


GENTLEMEN SFOETSMEN 


225 


ances in a lump when given out for distribution, and 
kept them. It was no use grumbling, — so many fewer 
tartlets and apples were eaten and fives’-balls bought on 
that Saturday ; and after locking-up, when the mone}^ 
would otherwise have been spent, consolation was carried 
to many a small boy by the sound of the night-fags 
shouting along the passages, “ Gentlemen sportsmen of 
the School-house, the lottery’s going to be drawn in 
the hall.” It was pleasant to be called a gentleman 
sportsman — also to have a chance of drawing a favorite 
horse. 

The hall was full of boys, and at the head of one of 
the long tables stood the sporting interest, with a hat 
before them, in which were the tickets folded up. One 
of them then began calling out the list of the house ; each 
boy as his name was called drew a ticket from the hat 
and opened it ; and most of the bigger boys, after draw- 
ing, left the hall directly to go back to their studies 
or the fifth-form room. The sporting interest had all 
drawm blanks, and they w^ere sulky accordingly ; neither 
of the favorites had yet been drawn, and it had come 
dowm to the upper fourth. So now, as each small boy 
came up and drew his ticket, it was seized and opened 
by Flashman, or some other of the standers-by. But 
no great favorite is drawn until it comes to the Tad- 
pole’s turn ; and he shuffles up and drawls, and tries to 
make off, but is caught, and his ticket is opened like 
the rest. 

Here you are! Wanderer! the third favorite,” 
shouts the opener. 

‘‘I say, just give me my ticket, please,” remonstrates 
Tadpole. 

“ Hullo, don’t be in a hurry,” breaks in Flashman ; 
‘‘what’ll you sell Wanderer for, now.?” 

“I don’t want to sell,” rejoins Tadpole. 


226 


TOM BBAWS THE FAVORITE 


“Oh, don’t you! Now listen, you young fool — 3^011 
don’t know anything about it ; the horse is no use to \"ou. 
He won’t win, but 1 want him as a hedge. Now I’ll 
give 3mu half a crown for him.” Tadpole holds out, 
but between threats and cajoleries at length sells half 
for one shilling and sixpence, about a fifth of its fair 
market value; however, he is glad to realize anything, 
and as he wisely remarks, “Wanderer mayn’t win, and 
the tizzy is safe anyhow.” 

East presently comes up and draws a blank. Soon 
after comes Tom’s turn ; his ticket, like the others, is 
seized and opened. “Here you are then,” shouts the 
opener, holding it up, “ Harkaway ! By Jove, Elashey, 
your young friend’s in luck.” 

“ Give me the ticket,” says Elashman with an oath, 
leaning across the table with an open hand, and his face 
black with rage. 

“Wouldn’t you like it.^” replies the opener, not a 
bad fellow at the bottom, and no admirer of Flashman’s. 
“ Here, Brown, catch hold,” and he hands the ticket to 
Tom, who pockets it; whereupon Elashman makes for 
the door at once, that Tom and the ticket may not 
escape, and there keeps watch until the drawing is over 
and all the boys are gone, except the sporting set of 
five or six, who stay to compare books, make bets, and so 
on, Tom, who doesn’t choose to move while Elashman is 
at the door, and East, who stays by his friend, antici- 
pating trouble. 

The sporting set now' gather round Tom. Public 
opinion wouldn’t allow them actually to rob him of his 
ticket, but any humbug or intimidation by which he 
could be driven to sell the w'hole or part at an under 
value was lawful. 

“ Now, young Browm, come, what’ll you sell me Hark- 
aw'ay for? I hear he isn’t going to start. I’ll give you 


BOASTING A FAG 


227 


five shillings for him,” begins the boy who had opened 
the ticket. Tom, remembering his good deed, and more- 
over in his forlorn state wishing to make a friend, is 
about to accept the offer, when another cries out, “ I’ll 
give you seven shillings.” Tom hesitated, and looked 
from one to the other. 

“ No, no ! ” said Flashrnan, pushing in, “ leave me to 
deal with him; we’ll draw lots for it afterwards. Now, 
sir, jmu know me — you’ll sell Harkaway to us for five 
shillings, or you’ll repent it.” 

“ I won’t sell a bit of him,” answered Tom shortly. 

“ You hear that now ! ” said Flashrnan, turning to the 
others. “ He’s the coxiest young blackguard in the 
house — I always told you so. We’re to have all the 
trouble and risk of getting up the lotteries for the bene- 
fit of such fellows as he.” 

Flashrnan forgets to explain what risk they ran, but 
he speaks to willing ears. Gambling makes boys selfish 
and cruel as well as men. 

“That’s true — we always draw blanks,” cried one. 
“ Now, sir, you shall sell half, at any rate.” 

“I won’t,” said Tom, flushing up to his hair, and 
lumping them all in his mind with his sworn enemy. 

“ Very well, then, let’s roast him,” cried Flashrnan, 
and catches hold of Tom by the collar; one or two boys 
hesitate, but the rest join in. East seizes Tom’s arm and 
tries to pull him away, but is knocked back by one of the 
boys, and Tom is dragged along struggling. His 
shoulders are pushed against the mantlepiece, and he is 
held by main force before the fire, Flashrnan drawing 
his trousers tight by way of extra torture. Poor East, 
in more pain even than Tom, suddenly thinks of Diggs, 
and darts off to find him. “Will you sell now for ten 
shillings.^” says one boy wFo is relenting. 

Tom only answers by groans and struggles. 


228 


TOM. DISCLOSES NOTHING 


/ 

“ I saj, Flashcy, he has had enough,” says the same 
1)0}^, dropping the arm he holds. 

“No, no, another turn’ll do it,” answers Flashman. 
But poor Tom is done already, turns deadly pale, and 
his head falls forward on his breast, just as Diggs, in 
frantic excitement, rushes into the hall with East at 
his heels. 

“ You cowardly brutes ! ” is all he can say, as he catches 
Tom from them and supports him to the hall table. 
“Good God! he’s dying. Here, get some cold water — 
run for the housekeeper.” 

Flashman and one or two others slink away ; the rest, 
ashamed and sorry, bend over Tom or run for water, 
while East darts off for the housekeeper. Water comes, 
and the}^ throw it on his hands and face, and he begins 
to come to. “Mother!” — the wmrds came feebly and 
slowdy — “it’s very cold tonight.” Poor old Diggs is 
blubbering like a child. “Where am I.?” goes on Tom, 
opening his eyes. “ Ah ! I remember now^,” and he shut 
lus eyes again and groaned. 

“ I say,” is whispered, “ w^e can’t do any good, and the 
housekeeper will be here in a minute,” and all but one 
steal away ; he stays w ith Diggs, silent and sorrowTul, 
and fans Tom’s face. 

The housekeeper comes in wdth strong salts, and Tom 
soon recovers enough to sit up. There is a smell of 
burning; she examines his clothes, and looks up inquir- 
ingly. The bo3^s are silent. 

“How did he come so.^” No answer. 

“ There’s been some bad w^ork here,” she adds, look- 
ing very serious, “ and I shall speak to the Doctor about 
it.” Still no answer. 

“Hadn’t w^e better carry him to the sick-room?” 
suggests Diggs. 

’ Oh, I can walk nowq” says Tom ; and supported by 


LAST DAYS OF THE WAE 


229 


East and the housekeeper, goes to the sick-room. The 
boy who lield his ground is soon amongst the rest, who 
are all in fear of their lives. “ Did lie peach ” “Does 
she know about it.^” 

“Not a word — he’s a stanch little fellow.” And 
pausing a moment, he adds, “ I’m sick of this work : 
what brutes we’ve been ! ” 

^Meantime, Tom is stretched on the sofa in the house- 
keeper’s room, with East by his side, whil^ she gets 
wine and water and other restoratives. 

“Are you much hurt, dear old boy.?” whispers East. 

“ Only the back of 1113- legs,” answers Tom. The3" 
are indeed badly scorched, and part of his trousers burnt 
through. But soon he is in bed with cold bandages. 
At first he feels broken, and thinks of writing home and 
getting taken away ; and the verse of a hj^mn he had 
learned years ago sings through his head, and he goes 
to sleep, murmuring, — 

“Whore the Avicked cense from troubling, 

And the Avearv are at rest. ’ ^ 


But after a sound night’s rest, the old boy-spirit comes 
back again. East comes in reporting that the whole 
house is with him, and he forgets ever3dhing except 
their old resolve, never to he beaten by that bully Flash- 
man. 

Not a word could tlie housekeeper extract from either 
of them, and though the Doctor kneiv all that she kneiv 
that morning, he never knew any more. 

I trust and believe that such scenes are not possible 
now at school, and that lotteries and betting-books have 
gone out ; but I am Avritlng of schools as they were in 
our time, and must give the evil Avlth the good. 


CHAPTER IX 


A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS 

Wherein I [speak] of most disastrous chances, 

Of moving accidents by flood and field, 

Of hair-breadth ’scapes. 

Shakespeare. 

When Tom came back into school* after a couple 
of days in the sick-room, he found matters much changed 
for the better, as East had led him to expect. Flash- 
man’s brutality had disgusted most even of his intimate 
friends, and his cowardice had once more been made plain 
to the house; for Diggs had encountered him on the 
morning after the lottery, and after high words on both 
sides had struck him, and the blow was not returned. 
However, Flashey was not unused to this sort of thing, 
and had lived through as awkward affairs before, and, as 
Diggs had said, fed and toadied himself back into 
favor again. Two or three of the boys who had helped 
to roast Tom came up and begged his pardon, and 
thanked him for not telling anything. Morgan sent for 
him, and was inclined to take the matter up warmly, 
but Tom begged him not to do it; to which he agreed 
on Tom’s promising to come to him at once in future 
— a promise which I regret to say he didn’t keep. Tom 
kept Harkaway all to himself, and won the second prize 
in the lottery, some thirty shillings, which he and East 
contrived to spend in about three days, in the purchase 
of pictures for their study, two new bats and a cricket- 

2^0 


RULE BREAKING 


231 


ball, all the best that could he got, and a supper of 
sausages, kidneys, and beef-steak pies to all the rebels. 
Light come, light go ; they wouldn’t have been comfort- 
able with money in their pockets in the middle of the 
half. 

The embers of Flashman’s wrath, however, were still 
smoldering, and burst out every now and then in sly 
blows and taunts, and they both felt that they hadn’t 
quite done with him yet. It wasn’t long, however, before 
the last act of that drama came, and with it the end 
of bullying for Tom and East at Rugby. They now 
often stole out into the hall at nights, incited thereto 
partly by the hope of finding Diggs there, and having 
a talk with him, partly by the excitement of doing some- 
thing which was against rules ; for, sad to say, both 
of our youngsters, since their loss of character for steadi- 
ness in their form, had got into the habit of doing things 
which were forbidden, as a matter of adventure; just 
in the same way, I should fancy, as men fall into smug- 
gling, and for the same sort of reasons. Thoughtlessness 
in the first place. It never occurred to them to consider 
why such and such rules w^ere laid down, — the reason 
was nothing to them, — and they only looked upon rules 
as a sort of challenge from the rule-makers, which it 
would be rather bad pluck in them not to accept; and 
then again, in the lower parts of the school they hadn’t 
enough to do. The work of the form they could man- 
age to get through pretty easily, keeping a good enough 
place to get their regular yearly remove ; and not having 
much ambition beyond this, their whole superfluous steam 
was available for games and scrapes. Now^, one rule of 
the house, which it was a daily pleasure of all such hoys 
to break, w'as that after supper all fags, except the three 
on duty in the passages, should remain in their owm 
studies until nine o’clock ; and if caught about the pas- 


232 


BULE BREAKING 


sages or hall, or in one another’s studies, they were liable 
to punishments or caning. The rule was stricter than 
its observance; for most of the sixth spent their evenings 
in the fifth-form room, where the library was, and the 
lessons were learnt in common. Every now and then, 
however, a praepostor would be seized with a fit of dis- 
trict visiting, and w'ould make a tour of the passages and 
hall and the fags’ studies. Then, if the owmer were 
entertaining a friend or two, the first kick at the door 
and ominous “Open here” had the effect of the shadow 
of a hawk over a chicken yard ; every one cut to cover — 
one small boy diving under the sofa, another under the 
table, while the owner would hastily pull down a bock 
or two and open them, and cry out in a meek voice, 
“Hullo, who’s there casting an anxious eye round, to 
see that no protruding leg or elbow could betray the 
hidden boys. “ Open, sir, dlrectlj^ ; it’s Snooks.” “ Oh, 
I’m very sorry; I didn’t know it was you, Snooks;” and 
then, Avith well-feigned zeal the door would be opened, 
young Hopeful praying tliat that beast Snooks mightn’t 
have, heard the scuffle caused by his coming. If a study 
was empty, Snooks proceeded to draw the passages and 
hall to find the truants. 

Well, one evening, in forbidden hours, Tom and East 
were in the hall. They occupied the seats before the 
fire nearest the door, while Diggs sprawled as usual 
before the further fire. He Avas busy with a copy of 
verses, and East and Tom were chatting together in 
Avliispers by the light of the fire, and splicing a faAmrite 
old fives’-bat which had sprung. Presently a step came 
down the bottom passage; they listened a moment, 
assured themselves that it wasn’t a praepostor, and then 
Avent on with their work, and the door swung open, and 
in Avalked Flashman. He didn’t see Diggs, and thought 
it a good chance to keep his hand in ; and as the boys 


TEE BRUISED WORU WILL TURN 


23a 


didn’t move for him, struck one of them, to make them 
get out of his way. 

“ What’s that for.?” growled the assaulted one. 

“Because I choose. You’ve no business here: go to 
your study.” 

“You can’t send us.” 

“Can’t I.? Then I’ll thrash you if you stay,” said 
Flashman savagely. 

“ I say, you two,” said Diggs, from the end of the h<ill, 
rousing up and resting himself on his elbow, “you’ll 
never get rid of that fellow till you lick him. Go in at 
him, both of you — I’ll see fair play.” 

Flashman was taken aback, and retreated two steps. 
Fast looked at Tom. “ Shall we try.?” said he. “Yes,” 
said Tom desperately. So the two advanced on Flash- 
man, with clenched fists and beating hearts. They were 
about up to his shoulder, but tough boys of their age, 
and in perfect training; while he, though strong and 
big, was in poor condition from his monstrous habits of 
stuffing and want of exercise. Coward as he was, how- 
ever, Flashman couldn’t swallow such an insult as this; 
•besides, he was confident of having easy work, and so 
faced the boys, saying, “You impudent young black- 
guards!” Before he could finish his abuse they rushed 
in on him, and began pummelling at all of him which 
they could reach. He hit out wildly and savagely, but 
the full force of his blows didn’t tell, they were too near 
him. It was long odds, though, in point of strength, 
and in another minute Tom went spinning backwards 
over a form, and Flashman turned to demolish East, with 
a savage grin. But now Diggs jumped down from the 
table on which he had seated himself. “ Stop there, 
shouted he, “the round’s over — half-minute time 
allowed.” 


234 ACCOUNTS SQUABED WITH FLASHMAN 

“What the is it to you?” faltered Flashman, 

wlio began to lose heart. 

“ I’m going to see fair, I tell you,” said Diggs with a 
grin, and snapping his great red fingers ; “ ’taint fair for 
you to be fighting one of them at a time. Are you ready. 
Brown.? Time’s up.” 

The small boys rushed in again. Closing they saw 
was their best chance, and Pdashman was wilder and more 
flurried than ever: he caught East by the throat, and 
tried to force him back on the iron-bound table; Tom 
grasped his waist, and, remembering the old throw he 
hjid learned in the Vale from Harry Winburn, crooked 
his leg inside Elashman’s, and threw his whole weight 
forward. The three tottered for a moment, and then 
over they went on to the floor, Flashman striking his 
head against a form in the hall. 

The two youngsters sprang to their legs, but he lay 
there still. They began to be frightened. Tom stooped 
down, and then cried out, scared out of his wits, “ He’s 
bleeding awfully; come here. East, Diggs, — he’s 
dying!” 

“ Not he,” said Diggs, getting leisurely off the table ; 
“it’s all sham — he’s only afraid to fight it out.” 

East was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted Flash- 
man’s head, and he groaned. 

“What’s the matter.?” shouted Diggs. 

“My skull’s fractured,” sobbed Flashman. 

“Oh, let me run for the housekeeper,” cried Tom. 
“ What shall we do .? ” 

“ Fiddlesticks 1 it’s nothing but the skin broken,” said 
the relentless Diggs, feeling his head. “Cold water and 
a bit of rag’s all he’ll want.” 

“ Let me go,” said Flashman surlily, sitting up ; “I 
don’t want your help.” 

“We’re really very sorry.” bc^^nn East. 


ACCOUNTS SQU4BED WITH FLASHMAN 


235 


“ Hang your sorrow,” answered Flashman, holding 
his handkerchief to the place ; “ you shall pay for this, 
I can tell you, both of you.” And he walked out of 
the hall. 

“ He can’t be very bad,” said Tom, with a deep sigh, 
much relieved to see his enemy march so well. 

“ Not he,” said Diggs, “ and you’ll see you won’t be 
troubled with him any more. But, I say, your head’s 
broken, too — your collar is covered with blood.” 

‘‘Is it, though said Tom, putting up his hand; “I 
didn’t know it.” 

“Well, mop it up, or you’ll have your jacket spoilt. 
And you have got a nasty eye. Scud; you’d better go 
and bathe it well in cold water.” 

“ Cheap enough, too, if we’ve done wdth our old friend 
Flashey,” said East, as they made off upstairs to bathe 
their wounds. 

They had done with Flashman in one sense, for he 
never laid finger on either of them again; but whatever 
harm a spiteful heart and venomous tongue could do 
them, he took care should be done. Only throw dirt 
enough, and some of it is sure to stick; and so it was 
wdth the fifth form and the bigger boys in general, wdth 
whom he associated more or less, and they not at all. 
Flashman managed to get Tom and East into disfavor, 
which did not wear off for some time after the author of 
it had disappeared from the school world. This event, 
much prayed for by the small fry in general, took place 
a few months after the above encounter. One fine sum- 
mer evening Flashman had been regaling himself on gin- 
punch, at Brownsover ;r and having exceeded his usual 
limits, started home uproarious. He fell in with a friend 
or tw^o coming back from bathing, proposed a glass of 
beer, to which they assented, the weather being hot, and 
they thirsty souls, and unaw are of the quantity of drink 


236 


PENALTIES OF WAE 


which riashman had already on board. The short result 
was, that I'lashey became beastly drunk ; they tried to 
get him along, but couldn’t ; so they chartered a hurdle 
and two men to carry him. One of the masters came 
upon them, and they naturally enough fled. The flight 
of the rest raised the master’s suspicions, and the good 
angel of the fags incited him to examine the freight, 
and, after examination, to convoy the hurdle himself 
up to the School-house; and the Doctor, who had long 
had his eye on Flashman, arranged for his withdrawal 
next morning. 

The evil that men, and boys, too, do, lives after them : 
Flashman was gone, but our boys, as hinted above, still 
felt the effects of his hate. Besides, they had been the 
movers of the strike against unlawful fagging. The 
cause was righteous, the result had been triumphant to 
a great extent ; but the best of the fifth, even those who 
had never fagged the small boys, or had given up the 
practice cheerfully, couldn’t help feeling a small grudge 
against the first rebels. After all, their form had been 
defied — ^on just grounds, no doubt; so just, indeed, that ; 
they had at once acknowledged the wrong, and remained 
passive in the strife: had they sided with Flashman and 
his set, the rebels must have given way at once. They 
couldn’t help, on the whole, being glad that they had 
so acted, and that the resistance had been successful 
against such of their own form as had shown fight; thev | 
felt that law and order had gained thereby, but the ring- j 
leaders they couldn’t quite pardon at once. “ Con- 
foundedly coxy those ^mung rascals will get, if we don’t - 
mind,” was the general feeling. ' 

So it is, and must be always, my dear boys. If the 
Angel Gabriel were to come down from heaven, and head 
a successful rise against the most abominable and 
unrighteous vested interest which this poor old world 


FATE OF LIB'EBATOFS 237 

giOfins under, he woilld most certainly lose his character 
for many years, probably for centuries, not only with 
upholders of said vested interest, but with the respectable 
mass of the people whom he had delivered. They 
wouldnt ask him to dinner, or let their names appear 
with his in the papers they w'ould be very careful how 
they spoke of him in the Palaver or at their clubs. What 
can we expect, then, when we have only poor, gallant, 
blundering men like Kossuth, Garibaldi, Mazzini, and 
righteous causes which do not triumph in their hands; 
men who have holes enough in their armor, God know^s,- 
easy to be hit by respectabilities sitting in their loung- 
ing chairs, and having large balances at their bankers’ 
But you are brave, gallant boys, w^ho hate easy-chairs. 
and have no balances or bankers. You only w^ant to have 
your heads set straight to take the right side; so bear 
in mind that majorities, especially respectable ones, are 
nine times out of ten in the wrong; and that if you see 
a man or boy striving earnestly , on the w^eak side, how - 
ever w^rong-headed or blundering he may be, you are 
not to go and join the cry against him. If you can’t 
join him and help him, and make him wdser, at any rate 
remember that he has found something in the wmrld wdiich ^ 
he will fight and suffer for, which is just wdiat you have 
got to do for yourselves; and so think and speak of 
him tenderly. 

So East and Tom, the Tadpole, and one or two more, 
became a sort of young Ishmaelites, their hands against 
every one, and everj^ one’s hand against them. It has 
been already told how they got to war with the masters 
and the fifth form, and wdth the sixth it was much the 
same. They saw the praepostors cowed by or joining 
wdth the fifth, and shirking their own duties ; so they 
didn’t respect them, and rendered no willing obedience. 

It had been one thing to clean out studies for sons of 


238 


FATE OF LIBERATORS 


heroes like old Brooke, but was quite another to do the 
like for Snooks and Green, who had never faced a good 
scrummage at football, and couldn’t keep the passages 
in order at night. So they only slurred through their 
fagging just well enough to escape a licking, and not 
always that, and got the character of sulky, unwilling 
fags. In the fifth-form room, after supper, when such 
matters were often discussed and arranged, their names 
were forever coming up. 

I say. Green,” Snooks began one night, “ isn’t that 
new boy, Harrison^ your fag.?” 

“Yes, why.?” 

“ Oh, I know something of him at home, and should 
like to excuse him — will you swop.?” 

“Who will you give me.?” 

“Well, let’s see, there’s Willis, Johnson — No, that 
won’t do. Yes, I have it — there’s young East, I’ll give 
3mu him.” 

“Don’t you wish you may get it.?” replied Green. 
“ I’ll tell you what I’ll do — I’ll give you two for Willis, 
if you like.” 

“Who then.?” asks Snooks. 

“ Hall and Brown.” 

“ Wouldn’t have ’em at a gift.” 

“Better than East, though; for they ain’t quite so 
sharp,” said Green, getting up and leaning his back 
against the mantelpiece — he wasn’t a bad fellow, and 
couldn’t help not being able to put down the unruly fifth 
form. His eye twinkled as he went on, “Did I ever tell 
you how the young vagabond sold me last half.?” 

“No — how.?” 

“Well, he never half cleaned my study out, only just 
stuck the candlesticks in the cupboard, and swept the 
crumbs on to the floor. So at last I was mortal angry, 
and had him up, made him go through the whole per- 


THE ISHMAELITES 


239 


fornianco under my eyes : the dust the young scamp made 
nearly choked me, and showed that he hadn’t swept the 
carpet before. Well, when it was all finished, ‘ Now, 
young gentleman,’ says I, ‘ mind, I expect this to be done 
every morning, floor swept, tablecloth taken off and 
shaken, and everything dusted.’ ‘ Very well,’ grunts he. 
Not a bit of it, though — I was quite sure in a day or 
two that he never took the tablecloth off even. So I laid 
a trap for him: I tore up some paper and put half a 
dozen bits bn my table one night, and the cloth over 
them as usual. Next morning, after breakfast, up I 
came, pulled off the cloth, and sure enough, there was 
the paper, which fluttered down on to the floor. I was 
in a towering rage. ‘ I’ve got you now,’ thought I, and 
sent for him, while I got out my cane. Up he came as 
cool as you please, with his hands in his pockets. ‘ Didn’t 
I tell you to shake my tablecloth every morning ? ’ roared 
I. ‘Yes,’ says he. ‘Did you do it this morning.^’ 
‘Yes.’ ‘You young liar! I put these pieces of paper 
on the table last night, and if 3mu’d taken the tablecloth 
off you’d have seen them, so I’m going to give you a 
good licking.’ Then my youngster takes one hand out 
of his pocket., and just stoops down and picks up two of 
the bits of paper, and holds them out to me. There w^as 
written on eac.h, in great round text, ‘ Harry East, his 
mark.’ The young rogue had found my trap out, taken 
aw ay my paper, and put some of his there, every bit ear- 
marked. I’d a great mind to lick him for his impudence, 
but after all one has no right to be laying traps, so I 
didn’t. Of course I w'as at his mercy till the end of the 
half, and in his weeks my study was so frowsy I couldn’t 
sit in it.” 

“They spoil one’s things so, too,” chimed in a third 
boy. “Hall and Brown were night-fags last week: I 
called fag, and gave them my candlesticks to clean ; away 


240 


TEE ISHMAELITES 


they went, and didn’t appear again. When tlfey’d had 
time enough to clean them three times over, I went out 
to look after them. They weren’t in the passages, so 
down I went into the hall, where I heard music, and 
there I found them sitting on the table, listening to 
Johnson, who was playing the flute, and my candlesticks 
stuck between the bars well into the fire, red-hot, clean 
spoiled; they’ve never stood straight since, and I must 
get some more. However, I gave them both a good lick- 
ing, that’s one comfort.” 

Such were the sort of scrapes they were always get- 
ting into: and so, partly by their own faults, partly 
from circumstances, partly from the faults of others, 
they found themselves outlaws, ticket-of-leave men, or 
what you will in that line: in short, dangerous parties, 
and lived the sort of hand-to-mouth, wild, reckless life 
which such parties generally have to put up with. 
Nevertheless, they never quite lost favor with young 
Brooke, who was now tlie cock of the house, and just 
getting into the sixth, and Diggs stuck to them like a 
man, and gave them store of good advice, by which they 
never in the least profited. 

And even after the house mended, and law and order 
had been restored, which soon happened after young 
Brooke and Diggs got into the sixth, they couldn’t 
easily or at once return into the paths of steadiness, and 
many of the old wild out-of-bounds habits stuck to them 
as firmly as ever. While they had been quite little boys, 
the scrapes they got into in the school hadn’t much mat- 
tered to any one ; but now they were in the upper school, 
all wrong-doers from which were sent up straight to the 
Doctor at once : so they began to come under his notice ; 
and as they were a sort of leaders in a small way amongst 
their own cotitemporaries, his eye, which was everywhere, 
was upon them. 


MISFORTUNE THICKENS 


24 ] 


It was a toss-up whether they turned out well or ill, 
and so they were just the boys who caused most anxiety 
to such a master. You have been told of the first occa- 
sion on which they were sent up to the Doctor, and the 
remembrance of it was so pleasant that they had much 
less fear of him than most boys of their standing had. 
“It’s all his look,” Tom used to say to East, “that 
frightens fellows; don’t you remember, he never said 
anything to us my first half-year for being an hour late 
for locking-up.^” 

The next time that Tom came before him, however, 
the interview was of a very different kind. It , happened 
just about the time at which we have now arrived, and 
was the first of a series of scrapes into which our hero 
managed now to tumble. 

The river Avon at Rugby is a slow and not very clear 
stream, in which chub, dace, roach, and other coarse fish 
are (or were) plentiful enough, together with a fair 
sprinkling of •small jack, but no fish worth sixpence 
either for sport or food. It is, however, a capital river 
for bathing, as it has many nice small pools and several 
good reaches for swdmming, all wdthin about a mile of 
one another, and at an easy twenty minutes’ walk from 
the school. This mile of water is rented, or used to be 
rented, for bathing purposes, by the trustees of the 
school, for the boys. The footpath to Brownsover 
crosses the river by “the Planks,” a curious old single- 
plank bridge, running for fifty or sixty yards into the 
flat meadows on each side of the, river, — for in the win- 
ter there are frequent floods. Above the Planks were 
the bathing places for the smaller boys; Sleath’s, the 
first bathing place where all new boys had to begin, until 
they had proved to tlife bathing men (three steady indi- 
viduals who were paid to attend daily through the sum- 
mer to prevent accidents) that they could swim pretty 


242 


TEE AVON 


decently, when they were allowed to go on to Anstey’s, 
about one hundred and fifty yards below. Here there 
was a hole about six feet deep and twelve feet across, 
over which the puffing urchins struggled to the opposite 
side, and thought no small beer of themselves for having 
been out of their depths. Below the Planks came larger 
and deeper holes, the first of which was Wratislaw’s, 
and the last Swift’s, a famous hole, ten or twelve feet 
deep in parts, and thirty yards across, from which there 
was a fine swimming reach right down to the mill. 
Swift’s was reserved for the sixth and fifth forms, and 
had a spring-board and two sets of steps ; the others had 
one set of steps each, and w^ere used indifferently by all 
the lower boys, though each house addicted itself more 
to one hole than to another. The School-house at this 
time affected Wratislaw’s hole, and Tom and East, who 
had learnt to swim like fishes, were to be found there as 
regular as the clock through the summer, always twice, 
and often three times a day. 

Now the boys either had, or fancied they had, a right 
also to fish at their pleasure over the whole of this part 
of the river, and would not understand that the right ( if 
any) only extended to the Rugby side. As ill-luck 
would have it, the gentleman who owned the opposite 
bank, after allowing it for some time without interfer- 
ence, had ordered his keepers not to let the boys fish on 
his side; the consequence of which had been, that there 
had been first wranglings and then fights between the 
keepers and boys; and so keen had the quarrel become, 
that the landlord and his keepers, after a ducking had 
been inflicted on one of the latter, and a fierce fight 
ensued thereon, had been up to the great school at call- 
ing-over to identify the delinquents, and it was all the 
Doctor himself and five or six masters could do to keep 
the peace. Not even his authority could prevent the 


DISPUTED MIGHTS OF FISHING 


243 


hissing, and so strong was the feeling, that the four 
prsepostors of the week walked up the school with their 
canes, shouting s-s-s-s-i-lenc-c-c-c-e at the top of their 
voices. However, the chief offenders for the time were 
flogged and kept in bounds, but the victorious party had 
brought a nice hornet’s nest about their ears. The land- 
lord was hissed at the school gates as he rode past, and 
when he charged his horse at the mob of boys, and tried 
to thrash them with his whip, was driven back by cricket 
bats and wickets, and pursued with pebbles and fives’- 
balls ; while the wretched keepers’ lives were a burden to 
them, from having to watch the waters so closely. 

The School-house boys of Tom’s standing, one and 
all, as a protest against this tyranny and cutting short 
of their lawful amusements, took to fishing in all ways, 
and especially by means of night-lines. The little tackle- 
maker at the bottom of the town would soon have made 
his fortune had the rage lasted, and several of the bar- 
bers began to lay in fishing-tackle. The boys had this 
great advantage over their enemies, that they spent a 
large portion of the day in nature’s garb by the river- 
side, and so, when tired of swimm^g, would get out on 
the other side and fish, or set night-lines till the keeper 
hove in sight, and then plunge in and swim back and 
mix with the other bathers, and the keepers were too wise 
to follow across the stream. 

While things were in this state, one day Tom and 
three or four others were bathing at Wratislaw’s, and 
had, as a matter of course, been taking up and resetting 
night-lines. They had all left the water, and were sit- 
ting or standing about at their toilets, in all costumes 
from a shirt upwards, when they were aware of a man 
in a velveteen shooting-coat approaching from the other 
side. He was a new keeper, so they didn’t recognize or 
notice him till he pulled up right opposite, and began ; — 


244 


CHAFFING A EEEPEB 


“I see’d some of you young gentlemen over this side 
a-fishing just now.” 

“ Hullo, who are you.^ what business is that of yours, 
old Velveteens.?” 

“I’m the new under-keeper, and master’s told me to 
keep a sharp lookout on all o’ you young chaps. And 
I tells’ee I means business, and you’d better keep on your 
own side, or we shall fall out.” 

“Well, that’s right. Velveteens — speak out, and let’s 
know your mind at once.” 

“Look here, old boy,” cried East, holding up a miser- 
able coarse fish or two and a snTall jack, “would you like 
to smell ’em and see w^hich bank they lived under.?” 

“I’ll give you a bit of advice, keeper,” shouted Tom, 
w^ho was sitting in his shirt paddling with his feet in the 
river : “ you’d better go down there to Swuft’s, where the 
big boys are ; they’re beggars at setting lines, and ’ll put 
you up to a wrinkle or tw^o for catching the five-pound- 
ers.” Tom was nearest to the keeper, and that officer, 
who was getting angry at the chaff, fixed his eyes on our 
hero, as if to take a note of him for future use. Tom 
returned his gaze with a steady stare, and then broke 
into n laugh, and struck into the middle of a favorite 
School-house song : — 

“As T and my companions 
Were setting of a snare, 

The gamekeeper was watching us, 

For him we did not care : 

For wc can wrestle and fight, my boys, 

, And jump out anywhere. 

For it’s my delight of a likely night, 
in the season of the year.” 

The chorus w as taken up by the other boys wuth shouts 
of laughter, and the keeper turned aw^ay w'ith a grunt. 


THE MAY -FLY SEASON 


”45 


but evidently bent on mischief. The boys thought no 
more of the matter. 

But now came on the may-fly season ; the soft hazy 
summer weather lay sleepily along the rich meadows 
by Avon side, and the green and gray flies flickered 
with their graceful lazy up-and-down flight over the 
reeds and the water and the meadows, in myriads upon 
myriads. The may-flies must surely be the lotus-eaters 
of the ephemerse ; the happiest, laziest, carelessest fly that 
dances and dreams put his few hours of sunshiny life by 
English rivers. 

Every little pitiful coarse fish in the Avon was on the 
alert for the flies, and gorging his wretched carcass with 
hundreds daily, the gluttonous rogues! and every lover 
of the gentle craft was out to avenge the poor may-flies. 

So one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom, having bor- 
rowed East’s new rod, started by himself to the river. 
He fished for some time with small success; not a fish 
would rise at him ; but, as he prowled along the bank, 
he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool 
on the opposite side, under the shade of a huge willow- 
tree. The stream was deep here, but some fifty yards 
below was a shallow, for which he made off hotfoot; and 
forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of the 
Doctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, 
plunged across, and in three minutes was creeping along 
on all fours toward the clump of willows. 

It isn’t often that great chub or any other coarse fish' 
are in earnest about anything, but just then they were 
thoroughly bent on feeding; and in half an hour Master 
Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at the foot 
of the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth 
pounder, and just going to throw in again, he became 
aware of a man coming up tl^e bank not one hundred 
vards off. Another look told him that it was the under- 


246 


THE BETUEN MATCH 


keeper. Could he reach the shallow before him.^ No, 
not carr^dng his rod. Nothing for it but the tree, so 
Tom laid his bones to it, shinning up as fast as he could, 
and dragging up his rod after him. He had just time 
to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten 
feet up, which stretched out over the river, when the 
keeper arrived at the clump. Tom’s heart beat fast as 
he came under the tree; two steps more and he would 
have passed, when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam 
on the scales of the dead fish caught his eye, and he made 
a dead point at the foot of the tree. He picked up the 
fish one by one; his eye and touch told him that they 
had been alive and feeding wdthin the hour. Tom 
crouched lower along the branch, and heard the keeper 
beating the clump. “ If I could only get the rod hid- 
den,” thought he, and began gently shifting it to get it 
alongside him ; “ willow-trees don’t throw out straight 
hickory shoots tw^elve feet long, wdth no leaves, w'orse 
luck.” Alas ! the keeper catches the rustle, and then a 
sight of the rod, and then of Tom’s hand and arm. 

“ Oh, be up ther’, be ’ee ? ” says be, running under the 
tree. “Now you come down this minute.” 

“ Tree’d at last,” thinks Tom, making no answer, and 
keeping as close as possible, but w'orking away at the 
rod, which he takes to pieces: “I’m in for it, unless I 
can starve him out.” And then he begins to meditate 
getting along the branch for a plunge, and scramble 
to tbe other side; but tbe small branches are so thick, 
and the opposite bank so difficult, that the keeper will 
have lots of time to get round by the ford before he can 
get out; so he gives that up. And now he hears the 
keeper beginning to scramble up the trunk. That, wdll 
never do ; so he scrambles himself back to wffiere his 
branch joins the trunk, and stands with lifted rod. 


WITH VELVETEENS 


247 


“Hullo, Velveteens, mind your fingers if you come 
any higher.” 

The keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin 
says, “Oh! be you, be it, young measter? Well, here’s 
luck. Now I tells’ee to come down at once, and ’t’ll be 
best for’ee.” 

“ Thank’ee, Velveteens, I’m very comfortable,” said 
Tom, shortening the rod in his hand, and preparing for 
battle. 

“Werry well, please yourself,” says the keeper, 
descending, however, to tli^e ground again, and taking 
his seat on the bank ; “ I bean’t in no hurry, so you mcd 
take your time. I’ll larn’ee to gee honest folk names 
afore I’ve done with’ee.” 

“My luck as usual,” thinks Tom; “what a fool I was 
to give him a black. If I’d called him ‘keeper,’ now, 
I might get off. The return match is all his way.” 

The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill, 
and light it, keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat dis- 
consolately across the branch, looking at keeper — a piti- 
ful sight for men and fishes. The more he thought of 
it, the less he liked it. “ It must be getting near second 
calling-over,” thinks he. Keeper smokes on stolidly. 
“ If he takes me up, I shall be flogged safe enough. I 
can’t sit here all night. Wonder if he’ll rise at silver. 

“I say, keeper,” said he meekly, “let me go for 
two bob.?” 

“Not for twenty neither,” grunts his persecutor. 

And so they sat on till long past second calling-over, 
and the sun came slanting in through the willow 
branches, and telling of locking-up near at hand. 

“ I’m coming down, keeper,” said Tom at last with a 
sigh, fairly tired out. “Now what are you going 
to do.?” 

“Walk’ee up to school, and give’ee over to the Doc- 


248 


VELVE TEENS ^ BE VENGE 


tor ; them’s my orders,” says Velveteens, knocking thfe 
ashes out of his fourth pipe, and standing up and shak- 
ing himself. 

“Very good,” 'said Tom; “but hands off, you know. 
I’ll go with you quietly, so no collaring or that sort of 
thing.” 

Keeper looked at him a minute. “Werry good,” said 
he at last; and so Tom descended, and wended his way 
drearily by the side of the keeper up to the School-house, 
where they arrived just at locking-up. As they passed 
the school gates, the Tadpole and several others who 
were standing there caught the state of things, and 
rushed out, crying “Rescue!” but Tom shook his head; 
so they only followed to the Doctor’s gate, and went 
hack sorely puzzled. 

How changed and stern the Doctor seemed from the 
last time that Tom was up there, as the keeper told the 
story, not omitting to state how Tom had called him 
blackguard names. “ Indeed, sir,” broke in the culprit, 
“ it was only Velveteens.” The Doctor only asked one 
question. 

“You know the rule about the banks, Brown 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then wait for me tomorrow, after first lesson.” 

“ I thought so,” muttered Tom. 

“ And about the rod, sir.?^ ” went on the keeper; “ mas- 
ter’s told we as we might have all the rods ” — 

“ Oh, please, sir,” broke in Tom, “ the rod isn’t mine.” 
The Doctor looked puzzled ; but the keeper, who was a 
good-hearted fellow, and melted at Tom’s evident dis- 
tress, gave up his claim. Tom was flogged next morn- 
ing, .and a few days afterwards met Velveteens, and pre- 
sented him with half a crown for giving up the rod claim, 
and they became sworn friends; and I regret to say that 
Tom had many more fish from under the willow that 


MORE SCRAPES 


249 


may-flj season, and was never caiis;ht again by Vel- 
veteens. 

It wasn’t three weeks before Tom, and now East by • 
his side, were again in the awful presence. This time, 
however, the Doctor was not so terrible. A few days 
before they had been fagged at fives to fetch the balls 
that went off the court. While standing watching- the 
game, they saw five or six nearly new balls hit on the top 
of the school. “ I say, Tom,” said East, when they were 
dismissed, “couldn’t we get those balls somehow.^” 

“ Let’s try, anyhow.” 

So they reconnoitered the walls carefully, borrowed a 
coal hammer from old Stumps, bought some big nails, 
and after one or two attempts scaled the schools, and 
possessed themselves of huge quantities of fives’-balls. 
The place pleased them so much that they spent all their 
spare time there, scratching and cutting their names on 
the top of every tower; and at last, having exhausted all 
other places, finished up with inscribing H. East, 
T. Brown, on the minute-hand of the great clock ; in the 
doing of which they held the minute-hand, and disturbed 
the clock’s economy. So next morning, when masters and 
boys came trooping down to prayers, and entered the 
quadrangle, the injured minute-hand was indicating three 
minutes to the hour. They all pulled up, and took their 
time. When the hour struck, doors were closed, and half 
the school late. Thomas, being set to make inquir}-, 
discovers their names on the minute-hand, and reports 
accordingly; and they are sent for, a knot of their 
friends making derisive and pantomimic allusions to 
what their fate will be, as they walk off. 

But the Doctor, after hearing their story, doesn’t 
.make much of it, and only gives them thirty lines of 
Homer to learn by heart, and a lecture on the likelihood 
of such. exploits ending in broken bones. 


250 


MORE SCRAPES 


Alas ! almost the next clay was one of the great fairs 
in the town ; and as several rows and other disagreeable 
accidents had of late taken place on these occasions, the 
Doctor gives out, after prayers in the morning, that no 
boy is to go down into the town. Wherefore East and 
Tom, for no earthly pleasure except that of doing what 
they are told not to do, start away, after second lesson, 
and making a short circuit through the fields, strike a 
back lane which leads into the town, go down it, and run 
plump upon one of the masters as they emerge into the 
High Street. The master in question, though a very 
clever, is not a righteous man: he has already caught 
several of his own pupils, and gives them lines to learn. 
Mobile he sends East and Tom, who are not his pupils, up 
to the Doctor; who, on learning that thej^ had been at 
prayers in the morning, flogs them soundly. 

The flogging did them no good at the time, for the 
injustice of their captor was rankling in their minds; 
but it was just the end of the half, and on the next 
evening but one Thomas knocks at their door, and says 
the Doctor wants to see them. They look at one another 
in silent dismay. What can it be now? Which of their 
countless wrong-doings can he have heard of officially? 
However, it’s no use delaying, so up they go to the 
stud3^ There they find the Doctor, not angry, but very 
grave. “He has sent for them to speak very seriously 
before they go home. They have each been flogged 
several times in the half-year for direct and willful 
breaches of rules. This cannot go on. They are doing 
no good to themselves or others, and now they are get- 
ting up in the school, and have influence. They seem 
to think that rules are made capriciously, and for the 
pleasure of the masters ; but this is not so : they are made 
for the good of the whole school, and must and shall be 
obeyed. Those who thoughtlessly or willfully break 


HOBEIBLY SCABED 


251 


them will not be allowed to stay at the school. He 
should be sorry if they had to leave, as the school might 
do them both much good, and wishes them to think very 
seriously in the holidays over what he has said. Good- 
night.” 

And so the two hurry off horribly scared: the idea of 
having to leave has never crossed their minds, and is 
quite unbearable. 

As they go out they m.eet at the door old Holmes, 
a sturdy, cheery praepostor of another house, who goes 
in to the Doctor ; and they hear his genial, hearty greet- 
ing of the newcomer, so different to their own reception, 
as the door closes, and return to their study with heavy 
hearts and tremendous resolves to break no more rules. 

Five minutes afterwards the master of their form, a 
late arrival and a model young master, knocks at the 
Doctor’s study-door. “ Come in ! ” and as he enters the 
Doctor goes on to Holmes — ‘‘you see I do not know 
anything of the case officially, and if I take any notice 
of it at all, I must publicly expel the boy. I don’t wish 
to do that, for I think there is some good in him. There’s 
nothing for it but a good sound thrashing.” He paused 
to shake hands with the master, which Holmes does also, 
and then prepares to leave. 

“ I understand. Good-night, sir.” 

“Good-night, Holmes. And remember,” added the 
Doctor, emphasizing the words, “ a good sound thrash- 
ing before the whole house.” 

The door closed on Holmes ; and the Doctor, in answer 
to the puzzled look of his lieutenant, explained shortly. 
“A gross case of bullying. Wharton, the head of the 
house, is a very good fellow, but slight and weak, and 
severe physical pain is the only way to deal with such a 
case ; so I have asked Holmes to take it up. He is very 
careful and trustworthy, and has plenty of strength. I 


252 


THE DOCTOE FEIGNING 


wish all the sixth had as much. We must have it here, 
if we are to keep order at all.” 

Now I don’t want any wiseacres to read this book ; 
but if they should, of course they wdl prick up their 
long ears, and howl, or rather bray, at the above story. 
Very good, I don’t object; but what I have to add for 
you boys is this, that Holmes called a levy of his house 
after breakfast next morning, made them a speech on 
the case of bullying in question, and then gave the bully 
a “ good sound thrashing ; ” and that years afterwards, 
that boy sought out Holmes, and thanked him, saying 
it had been the kindest act which had ever been done 
upon him, and the turning-point in his character: and a 
kery good fellow he became, and a credit to his school. 

After some other talk between them, the Doctor said,' 
“ I want to speak to you about two boys in your form. 
East and Brown: I have just been speaking to them. 
What do you think of them ? ” 

‘‘Well, they are not hard workers, and very thought- 
less and full of spirits — but I can’t help liking them. 

I think they are sound, good fellows at the bottom.” 

“I’m glad of it. I think so too. But they make me 
very uneasy. They are taking the lead a good deal 
amongst the fags in my house, for they are very active, 
bold fellows. I should be sorry to lose them, but I 
shan’t let them stay if I don’t see them gaining character 
and manliness. In another year they may do great harm 
to all the younger boys.” 

“ Oh, I hope you won’t send them away,” pleaded 
their master. 

“Not if I can help it. But now I never feel sure, 
after any half-holiday, that I shan’t have to flog one of 
them next morning for some foolish, thoughtless scrape. 

I quite dread seeing either of them.” 


TSE DOCTOR REIGNING 


253 


They were both silent for a minute. Presently the 
Doctor began again : — 

“ They don’t feel that they have any duty or work 
to do in the school, and how is one to make them feel it? ” 

“ I think if either of them had some little boy to take 
care of, it would steady them. Brown is the most reck- 
less of the two, I should say; East wouldn’t get into so 
many scrapes without him.” 

“Well,” said the Doctor, with something like a sigh, 
“I’ll think of it.” And they went on to talk of other 
subjects. 








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TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


PART II 


I [hold] it truth, with him who sings 
To one clear harp in divers tones, 
That men may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things. 


Tennyson. 


CHAPTER I 


HOW THE TIDE TUKNED 

Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide, 

In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side: 

Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside. 
Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified. 

Lowell. 

The turning-point in our hero’s school career had 
now come, and the manner of it was as follows. On the 
evening of the first day of the next half-year, Tom, 
East, and another School-house boy, who had just been 
dropped at the Spread Eagle by the old Regulator, 
rushed into the matron’s room in high spirits, such as 
all real boys are in when they first get back, however 
fond they may be of home. 

“Well, Mrs. Wixie,” shouted one, seizing on the 
methodical, active, little dark-eyed' woman, who was busy 
stowung away the linen of the boys who had already 
arrived into their several pigeon-holes, “ here we are 
again, you see, as jolly as ever. Let us help you put 
the things away.” 

“And, Mary,” cried another, (she was called indif- 
ferently by either name,) “who’s come back.?^ Has the 
Doctor made old Jones leave How many new boys 
are there 

“Am I and East to have Gray’s study You know 
you promised to get it for us if you could,” shouted Tom. 

“And am I to sleep in Number 4.?” roared East. 


257 


258 


BLACK MONDAY 


“How’s old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally?” 

“Bless the boys!” cries Mary, at last getting in a 
word, “why, you’ll shake me to death. There, now do 
go away up to the housekeeper’s room and get your 
suppers ; you know I haven’t time to talk — you’ll find 
plenty more in the house. Now, Master East, do let 
those things alone — you’re mixing up three new boys’ 
things.” And she rushed at East, who escaped round 
the open trunks holding up a prize. 

“ Hullo, Took here. Tommy,” shouted he, “ here’s 
fun!” and he brandished above his head some pretty 
little night-caps, beautifully made and marked, the work 
of loving fingers in some distant country home. The 
kind mother and sisters, who sewed that delicate stitch- 
ing with aching hearts, little thought of the trouble they 
might be bringing on the young head for which they 
were meant. The little matron was wiser, and snatched 
the caps from East before he could look at the name 
on them. 

“ Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you don’t 
go,” said she ; “ there’s some capital cold beef and 
pickles upstairs, and I won’t have you old boys in my 
room first night.” 

“Hurra for the pickles! Come along. Tommy; come 
along. Smith. We shall find out who the young count 
is. I’ll be bound : I hope he’ll sleep in my room. Mary’s 
always vicious first week.” 

As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron 
touched Tom’s arm, and said, “ Master Brown, please 
stop a minute, I want to speak to you.” 

“Very well, Mary. I’ll come in a minute. East; don’t 
finish the pickles — ” 

“ Oh, Master Brown,” went on the little matron, when 
the rest had gone, “you’re to have Gray’s study, Mrs. 
Arnold says. And she wants you to take in this young 


THE SADDLE IS PUT ON TOM 


259 


gentleman. He’s a new boy, and thirteen years old, 
though he don’t look it. He’s very delicate, and has 
never been from home before. And I told Mrs. Arnold 
I thought you’d be kind to him, and see that they don’t 
bully him at first. He’s put into your form, and I’ve 
given him the bed next to yours in Number 4 ; so East 
can’t sleep there this half.” 

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had 
got the double study which he coveted, but here were 
conditions attached which greatly moderated his joy. 
He looked across the room, and in the far corner of 
the sofa was aware of a slight, pale boy, with large blue 
eyes and light fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink 
through the floor. He saw at a glance that the little 
stranger was just the boy whose first half-year at a 
public school would be misery to himself if he were left 
alone, or constant anxiety to any one who meant to see 
him through his troubles. Tom was too honest to take 
in the youngster and then let him shift for himself ; and 
if he took him as his chum instead of East, where were 
all his pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under 
his window, and making night-lines and slings, and plot- 
ting expeditions to Brownsover Mills and Caldecott’s 
Spinney? East and he had made up their minds to get 
this study, and then every night from locking-up till 
ten they would be together to talk about fishing, drink 
bottled beer, read Marryat’s novels, and sort birds’ eggs. 
And this new boy would most likely never go out of the 
close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always get- 
ting laughed at, and called Molly, or Jenny, or some 
derogatory feminine nickname. 

The matron watched him for a moment, and saw what 
was passing in his mind, and so, like a wise negotiator, 
threw in an appeal to his warm heart. “ Poor little fel- 
low%” said she in almost a whisper, “his father’s dead, 


260 TEE SADDLE IS PUT ON TOM 

and lie’s got no brothers. And his mamma, such a kind, 
sweet lady, almost broke her heart at leaving him this 
morning; and she said one of his sisters was like to die 
of decline, and so — ” 

“Well, well,” burst in Tom, with something like a 
sigh at the effort, “I suppose I must give up East. 
Come along, young un. What’s your name.?* We’ll go 
and have some supper, and then I’ll show you our study.” 

“ His name’s George Arthur,” said the matron, walk- 
ing up to him with Tom, who grasped his little delicate 
hand as the proper preliminary to making a chum of 
him, and felt as if he could have blown him away. “ I’ve 
had his books and things put into the study, which his 
mamma has had new papered, and the sofa covered, and 
new green-baize curtains over the door” (the diplomatic 
matron threw this in, to show that the new boy was con- 
tributing largely to, the partnership comforts). “And 
Mrs. Arnold told me to say,” she added, “that she should 
like yoii both to come up to tea with her. You know the 
wa}^ Master Brown, and the things are just gone up, 
I know.” 

Here was an announcement for Master Tom! He 
v.as to go up to tea the first night, just as if he were 
a sixth or fifth-form boy, and of importance in the 
school world, instead of the most reckless young scape- 
grace amongst the fags. He felt himself lifted on to 
a higher social and moral platform at once. Neverthe- 
less, he couldn’t give up without a sigh the idea of the 
jolly supper in the housekeeper’s room with East and the 
rest, and a rush round to all the studies of his friends 
afterwards, to pour out the deeds and wonders of the 
holidays, to plot fifty plans for the coming half-^^ear, 
and to gather news of who had left, and what new boys 
had come, who had got who’s study, and where the new 
praepostors slept. However, Tom consoled himself with 


TEA WITH THE DOCTOR 


261 


thinking that he couldn’t have done all this with the new 
boy at his heels, and so marched off along the passage.*? 
to the Doctor’s private house with his young charge in 
tow, in monstrous good humor with himself and all the 
world. 

It is needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how 
the two young boys were received in that drawing-room. 
The lady who presided there is still living, and has car- 
ried with her to her peaceful home in the North the 
respect and love of all those who ever felt and shared 
that gentle and high-bred hospitality. Ay, many is the 
brave heart now doing its work and bearing its load in 
country curacies, London chambers, under the Indian 
sun, and in Australian towns and clearings, which looks 
back with fond and grateful memory to that School- 
house drawing-room, and dates much of its highest and 
best training to the lessons learnt there. 

Besides Mrs. Arnold and one or two of the elder chil- 
dren, there were one of the younger masters, young 
Brooke, who was now in the sixth, and had succeeded to 
his brother’s position and influence, and another sixth- 
form boy there, talking together before the fire. The 
master and young Brooke, now a great strapping fellow 
six feet high, eighteen years old, and powerful as a coal- 
heaver, nodded kindly to Tom, to his intense glory, and 
then went on talking; the other did not notice them. 
The hostess, after a few kind words, which led the boys 
at once and insensibly to feel at their ease, and to begin 
talking to one another, left them with her owm children 
while she finished a letter. The young ones got on fast 
and well, Tom holding forth about a prodigious pony he 
had been riding out hunting, and hearing stories of the 
winter glories of the lakes, when tea came in, and imme- 
diately after the Doctor himself. 

How' frank, and kind, and manly w^as his greeting to 


262 


TEA WITH THE DOCTOll 


the party by the fire ! It did Tom’s heart good to see 
him and young Brooke shake hands, and look one another 
in the face; and he didn’t fail to remark that Brooke 
was nearly as tall, and quite as broad as the Doctor. 
And his cup was full when in another moment his master 
turned to him with another warm shake of the hand, and, 
seemingly oblivious of all the late scrapes which he had 
been getting into, said, “ Ah, Brown, you here ! I hope 
you left your father and all well at home.'^” 

“Yes, sir, quite well.” 

“ And this is the little fellow who is to share your study. 
Well, he doesn’t look as we should like to see him. He 
wants some Rugby air, and cricket. And you must take 
him some good long walks, to Bilton Grange and Calde- 
cott’s Spinney, and show him what a little pretty country 
we have about here.” 

Tom wondered if the Doctor knew that his visits to 
Bilton Grange were for the purpose of taking rooks’ 
nests, (a proceeding strongly discountenanced by the 
owner thereof,) and those to Caldecott’s Spinney were 
prompted chiefly by the conveniences for setting night- 
lines. What didn’t the Doctor know ? And what a noble 
use he always made of it! He almost resolved to abjure 
rook-pies and night-lines forever. The tea went merrily 
off, the Doctor now talking of holiday doings, and then 
of the prospects of the half-year, what chance there w^as 
for the Balliol scholarship, whether the eleven would be 
a good one. Everybody was at his ease, and everybody 
felt that he, young as he might be, was of some use in 
the little school world, and had a work to do there. 

Soon after tea the Doctor went off to his study, and 
the young boys a few minutes afterwards took their 
leave, and went out of the private door which led from 
the Doctor’s house into the middle passage. 

At the fire, at the further end of the passage, was a 


ABTHVB’S DEBUT 


263 


crowd of boys in loud talk and laughter. There was a 
sudden pause when the door opened, and then a great 
shout of greeting, as Tom was recognized marching 
down the passage. 

“Hullo, Brown, where do you come from.?” 

^ “ Oh, I’ve been to tea with the Doctor,” says Tom, 

with great dignity. 

“ My eye ! ” cried East. “ Oh ! so that’s why Mary 
called you back, and you didn’t come to supper. You 
lost something — that beef and pickles was no end good.” 

“ I say, young fellow,” cried Hall, detecting Arthur, 
and catching him by the collar, “ what’s your name ? 
Where do you come from.? How old are you.?” 

Tom saw Arthur shrink back, and look scared as all 
tlie group turned to him, but thought it best to let him 
answer, just standing by his side to support in case of 
need. 

“Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire.” 

“Don’t call me ‘sir,’ you young muff. How old 
are you.?” 

“ Thirteen.” 

“Can you sing?” 

The poor boy was trembling and hesitating. Tom 
struck in — “You be hanged. Tadpole. He’ll have to 
sing, whether he can or not, Saturday twelve weeks, and 
that’s long enough off yet.” 

“ Do you know him at home. Brown .? ” 

“No; but he’s my chum in Gray’s old study, and it’s 
near prayer time, and I haven’t had a look at it yet. 
Come along, Arthur.” 

Away went the two, Tom jonging to get his charge 
safe under cover, where he might advise him on his 
deportment. 

“What a queer chum for Tom Brown,” was the com- 
ment at the fire; and it must be confessed so thought 


264 


AETEUIVS DEBUT 


Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and surveyed the 
new green-baize curtains, and the carpet and sofa, with 
much satisfaction. 

“ I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make 
us so cozy. But look here now, you must answer straight 
up when the fellows speak to you, and don’t be afraid. 
If you’re afraid, you’ll get bullied. And don’t you say 
you can sing; and don’t you ever talk about home, or 
your mother and sisters.” 

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry. 

“ But please,” said he, “ mayn’t I talk about — about 
home to you.^” 

“ Oh, yes, I like it. But don’t talk to boys you don’t 
know, or they’ll call you homesick, or mamma’s darling, 
or some such stuff. What a jolly desk! is that yours.? 
And what stunning binding ! why, your schoolbooks look 
like novels.” 

And Tom was soon deep in Arthur’s goods and chat- 
tels, all new, and good enough for a fifth-form boy, and 
hardly thought of his friends outside till the prayer 
bell rung. 

I have already described the School-house prayers; 
they were the same on the first night as on the other 
nights, save for the gaps caused by the absence of those 
boys who came late, and the line of new boys who stood 
all together at the further table — of all sorts and sizes, 
like young bears with all their troubles to come, as 
Tom’s father had said to him when he was in the same 
position. He thought of it as he looked at the line, and 
poor little slight Arthur standing with them, and as he 
was leading him upstairs to Number 4, directly after 
prayers, and showing him his bed. It was a huge, high, 
airy room, with two large windows looking on to the 
school close. There were twelve beds in the room. The 
one in the furthest corner by the fireplace, occupied by 


AETHUE’S DEBUT 


265 


the sixth-form boy who was responsible for the discipline 
of the room, and the rest by boys in the lower fifth and 
other junior forms, all fags (for the fifth-form boys, as 
has been said, slept in rooms by themselves). Being 
fags, the eldest of them was not more than about sixteen 
years old, and were all bound to be up and in bed by 
ten; the sixth-form boys came to bed from ten to a 
quarter past, (at which time the old verger came round 
to put the candles out,) except when they sat up to read. 

Within a few minutes, therefore, of their entry, all 
the other boys who slept in Number 4 had come up. The 
little fellows went quietly to their o\vn beds, and began 
undressing and talking to each other in whispers; w^hile 
the elder, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting about 
on one another’s beds, with their jackets and waistcoats 
off. Poor little Arthur w'as overwhelmed with the novelty 
of his position. The idea of sleeping in the room witli 
strange boys had clearly never crossed his mind before, 
and was as painful as it was strange to him. He could 
hardly bear to take his jacket off : however, presently, 
with an effort, off it came ; and then he paused and looked 
at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of his bed talk- 
ing and laughing. 

Please, Brown,” he whispered, “ may I wash my face 
and hands?” 

Of course, if you like,” said Tom, staring ; “ that’s 
your wash-hand stand, under the window, second from 
your bed. You’ll have to go down for more w^ater in 
the morning if you use it all.” And on he went with 
his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the. 
beds out to his wash-hand stand, and began his ablutions, 
thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention 
of the room. 

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his 
washing and undressing, and put on his night-gown. 


266 


LESSON NO. 1 


He then looked round more nervously than ever. Two 
or three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting 
up with their chins on their knees. The light burned 
clear, the noise went on. It was a trying moment for 
the poor little lonely boy ; however, this time he didn’t 
ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on 
his knees by his bedside, as he had done every day from 
his childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the 
cry and beareth the sorrows of the tender child and the 
strong man in agony. 

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing 
his boots, so that his back was toward Arthur, and he 
didn’t see what had happened, and looked up in wonder 
at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed 
and sneered, and a big brutal fellow, who was standing 
in the middle of the room, picked up a slipper, and shied 
it at the kneeling boy, calling him a snivelling young 
shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment 
the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head 
of the bully, who had just time to throw up his arm and 
catch it on his elbow. 

“Confound you. Brown, what’s that for.^” roared he, 
stamping with pain. 

“ Never mind what I mean,” said Tom, stepping on 
to the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling; 
“ if any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to 
get it.” 

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at 
this moment the sixth-form boy came in, and not another 
word could be said. Tom and the rest rushed into bed 
and finished their unrobing there, and the old verger, as 
punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in another 
minute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting their 
door with his usual “ Good-night, genl’m’n.” 

There were many boys in the room by whom that 


LESSON NO. 1 


267 


little scene was taken to heart before they slept. Hut 
sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of poor Tom. 
h or some time his excitement, and the flood of memories 
Ashich chased one another through his brain, kept him 
from thinking or resolving. His head throbbed, his 
heart leapt, and he could hardly keep himself from 
springing out of bed and rushing about the room. Then 
the thought of his own mother came across him, and the 
promise he had made at her knee, years ago, never to 
forget to kneel by his bedside, and give himself up to his 
Father, before he laid his head on the pillow, from which 
it might never rise; and he lay down gently and cried 
as if his heart would break. He was only fourteen 
years old. 

It was no light act of courage in those days, my dear 
boys, for a little fellow to say his prayers publicly, even 
at Rugby. A few years later, when Arnold’s manly piety 
had begun to leaven the school, the tables turned; before 
he died, in the School-house at least, and I believe in 
the other houses, the rule was the other way. But poor 
Tom had come to school in other times. The first few' 
nights after he came he did not kneel down because of 
the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was out, and 
then stole out and said his prayers, in fear lest some one 
should find him out. So did many another poor little 
fellow. Then he began to think that he might just as 
w’ell say his prayers in bed, and then that it didn’t mat- 
ter whether he was kneeling, or sitting, or lying down. 
And so it had come to pass with Tom, as wdth all who w ill 
not confess their Lord before men ; and for the last year 
he had probably not said his prayers in earnest a dozen 
times. 

Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling, which Avas 
like to break his heart, w'as the sense of his own cowardice. 
The vice of all others w'hich he loathed w'as brouglit in 


268 


LESSON NO. 1 


and burned in on his own soul. He had lied to his 
mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he 
hear it.^ And then the poor little weak boj, whom he 
had pitied and almost scorned for his weakness, had done 
that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do. The 
first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to him- 
self that he would stand by that boy through thick and 
thin, and cheer him, and help him, and bear his burdens, 
for the good deed done that night. Then he resolved to 
write home next day and tell his mother all, and what a 
coward her son had been. And then peace came to him 
as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony next morn- 
ing. The morning would be harder than the night to 
begin with, but he felt that he could not afford to let 
one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for the devil 
showed him, first, all his old friends calling him “ Saint ” 
and “ Square-toes,” and a dozen hard names, and w'his- 
pered to him that his motives would be misunderstood, 
and he w^ould only be left alone with the new boy; 
w'hereas it was his duty to keep all means of influence, 
that he might do good to the largest number. And then 
came the more subtle temptation, “ Shall I not be show- 
ing myself braver than others by doing this.^ Have I 
any right to begin it now ? Ought I not rather to pray 
in my owm study, letting other boys know that I do so, 
and trying to lead them to it, while in public at least 
I should go on as I have done ? ” However, his good 
angel was too strong that night, and he turned on his 
side and slept, tired of trying to reason, but resolved to 
follow the impulse which had been so strong, and in 
which he had found peace. 

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all 
but his jacket and waistcoat, just as the ten minutes’ 
bell began to ring, and then in the face of the whole 
room knelt down to pray. Not five w'ords could he say — 


TOM LEAENS HIS LESSON 


269 


the bell mocked him; he was listening for every whisper 
in the room — what were they all thinking of him? He 
was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from 
his knees. At last, as it were from his inmost heart, a 
still small voice seemed to breathe forth the words of the 
publican, “ God be merciful to me a sinner ! ” He 
repeated them over and over, clinging to them as for his 
life, and rose from his knees comforted and humbled, and 
ready to face the whole world. It was not needed: two 
other boys besides Arthur had already followed his exam- 
ple, and he went down to the great school with a glim- 
mering of another lesson in his heart — the lesson that 
he who has conquered his own coward spirit has con- 
quered the whole outward world ; and that other one 
which the old prophet learned in the cave in Mount 
Horeb, when he hid his face, and the still small voice 
asked, “What doest thou here, Elijah?” that however 
we may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the 
King and Lord of men is nowhere without his witnesses ; 
for in every society, however seemingly corrupt and god- 
less, there are those who have not bowed the knee to Baal. 

He found, too, how greatly he had exaggerated the 
effect to be produced by his act. For a few nights there 
was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt down, but this 
passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys but 
three or four followed the lead. I fear that this was in 
some measure owing to the fact that Tom could prob- 
ably have thrashed any boy in the room except the 
pra'postor; at any rate, every boy knew that he would 
try upon very slight provocation, and didn’t choose to 
run the risk of a hard fight because Tom Brown had 
taken a fancy to say his prayers. Some of the small 
boys of Number 4 communicated the new state of things 
to their chums, and in several other rooms the poor little 
fellows tried it on ; in one instance or so, where the 


270 


TOM LEAKNS BIS LESSON 


pra3postor heard of it and interfered very decidedly, 
with partial success ; but in the rest, after a short strug- 
gle, the confessors were bullied or laughed down, and the 
old state of things went on for some time longer. Before 
either Tom Brown or Arthur left the School-house there 
was no room in which it had not become the regular cus- 
tom. I trust it is so still, and that the old heathen state 
of things has gone out forever. 


CHAPTER II 


THE NEW BOY 

And Heaven’s rich instincts in him grew, 

As effortless as woodland nooks 
Send violets up and paint them blue. 

Lowell. 

I DO not mean to recount all the little troubles and 
annoyances which thronged upon Tom at the beginning 
of this half-year, in his new character of bear-leader to 
a gentle little boy straight from home. He seemed to 
himself to have become a new boy again, without any 
of the long-suffering and meekness indispensable for 
supporting that character with moderate success. From 
morning till night he had the feeling of responsibility 
on his mind; and even if he left Arthur in their study 
or in the close for an hour, was never at ease till he had 
him in sight again. He waited for him at the doors of 
the school after every lesson and every calling-over; 
watched that no tricks were played him, and none but the 
regulation questions asked ; kept his eye on his plate at 
dinner and breakfast, to see that no unfair depredations 
were made upon his viands ; in short, as East remarked, 
cackled after him like a hen with one chick. 

Arthur took a long time thawing, too, which made it 
all the harder work; was sadly timid; scarcely ever 
spoke unless Tom spoke to him first ; and, worst of all, 
would agree with him in everything, the hardest thing 
in the world for a Brown to bear. He got quite angry 
sometimes, as they sat together of a night in their study, 

271 


272 


TOM’S TlilALS 


at this provoking habit of agreement, and was on the 
point of breaking out a dozen times with a lecture upon 
the propriety of a fellow' having a wdll of his own and 
speaking out, but managed to restrain himself by the 
thought that it might only frighten Arthur, and the 
remembrance of the lesson he had learnt from him on his 
first night at Number 4. Then he would resolve to sit 
still, and not say a w'ord till Arthur began ; but he was 
always beat at that game, and had presently to begin 
talking in despair, fearing lest Arthur might think he 
w'as vexed at something if he didn’t, and dog-tired of 
sitting tongue-tied. 

It was hard work! But Tom had taken it up, and 
meant to stick to it, and go through wuth it, so as to 
satisfy himself ; in which resolution he w'as much assisted 
by the chaffing of East and his other old friends, w'ho 
began to call him “dry-nurse,” and otherwdse to break 
their small wdt on him. But when they took other ground, 
as they did every now' and then, Tom was sorely puzzled. 

“ Tell you >vhat. Tommy,” East would say, “ you’ll 
spoil young Hopeful with too much coddling. Why 
can’t 3 ’^ou let him go about by himself and find his own 
level He’ll never be worth a button, if you go on 
keeping him under your skirts.” 

“Well, but he ain’t fit to fight his own way yet; I’m 
trying to get him to it every day — but he’s very odd. 
Poor little beggar! I can’t make him out a bit. He 
ain’t a bit like anything I’ve ever seen or heard of — he 
seems all over nerves; anything you say seems to hurt 
him like a cut or a blow'.” 

“That sort of boy’s no use here,” said East; “he’ll 
only spoil. Now', I’ll tell you what to do. Tommy. Go 
and get a nice large band-box made, and put him in with 
plenty of cotton-wool, and a pap-bottle, labelled, ‘With 
care — this side up,’ and send him back to mamma.” 


EAST’S ADVICE 


273 


“ I think I shall make a hand of him, though,” said 
Tom, smiling, “say what you will. There’s something 
about him, every now and then, which shows me he’s got 
pluck somewhere in him. That’s the only thing after 
all that’ll wash, ain’t it, old Scud.? But how to get at it 
and bring it out.?” 

Tom took one hand out of his breeches-pocket and 
stuck it in his back hair for a scratch, giving his hat 
a tilt over his nose, his one method of invoking wisdom. 
He stared at the ground with a ludicrously puzzled look, 
and presently looked up and met East’s eyes. That 
young gentleman slapped him on the back, and then 
put his arm round his shoulder, as they strolled through 
the quadrangle together. “Tom,” said he, “blest if 
you ain’t the best old fellow ever was; I do like to see 
you go into a thing. Hang it, I wish I could take things 
as you do — but I never can get higher than a joke. 
Everything^’s a joke. If I was going to be flogged next 
minute, I should be in a blue funk, but I couldn’t help 
laughing at it for the life of me.” 

“Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on the 
great fives’ court.” 

“Hullo, though, that’s past a joke,” broke out East, 
springing at the young gentleman who addressed them, 
and catching him by the collar. “ Here, Tommy, catch 
hold of him t’other side before he can holla.” 

The youth was seized, and dragged struggling out of 
the quadrangle into the School-house hall. He was one 
of the miserable little pretty white-handed curly-headed 
boys, petted and pampered by some of the big fellows,’^ 
who wrote their verses for them, taught them to drink 

1 A kind and wise critic, an old Rugbeian, notes here in the margin ; 
The “ small friend system was not so utterly bad from 1841-1847.’' 
Before that, too, there were many noble friendships between big and 
little boys, l)ut I can’t strike out the passage; many boys will know 
why it is left in. 


274 


AN EPISODE 


and use bad language, and did all they could to spoil 
them for everything in this world and the next. One 
of the avocations in which these young gentlemen took 
particular delight was in going about and getting fags 
for their protectors, when those heroes were playing any 
game. They carried about pencil and paper with them, 
putting down the names of all the boys they sent, always 
sending five times as many as were wanted, and getting 
all those thrashed who didn’t go. The present youth 
belonged to a house which was very jealous of the 
School-house, and always picked out School-house fags 
when he could find them. However, this time he’d got 
the wrong sow by the ear. His captors slammed the 
great door of the hall, and East put his back against it, 
while Tom gave the prisoner a shakeup, took away his 
list, and stood him up on the floor, while he proceeded 
leisurely to examine that document. 

“ Let me out, let me go ! ” screamed the boy in a 
furious passion. “I’ll go and tell Jones this minute, 

and he’ll give you both the thrashing you ever 

had.” 

“ Pretty little dear,” said East, patting the top of his 
hat; “hark how he swears, Tom. Nicely brought up 
young man, ain’t he, I don’t think.” 

“Let me alone, you,” roared the boy, foaming 

with rage, and kicking at East, who quietly tripped 
him up, and deposited him on the floor in a place of 
safety. 

“Gently, young fellow,” said he; “ ’tain’t improving 
for little whippersnappers like you to be indulging in 
blasphemy; so you stop that, or you’ll get something 
you won’t like.” 

“ I’ll have you both licked when I get out, that I 
will,” rejoined the boy, beginning to snivel. 


AN EPISODE 


275 


“ Two can play at that game, mind you,” said Tom, 
who had finished his examination of the list. “Now you 
just listen here. We’ve just come across the fives’ court, 
and Jones has four fags there already, two more than 
he wants. If he’d wanted us to change, he’d have 
stopped us himself. And here, you little blackguard, 
you’ve got seven names down on your list besides ours, 
and five of them School-house.” Tom walked up to him 
and jerked him on to his legs; he was by this time whin- 
ing like a whipped puppy. 

“Now just listen to me. We ain’t going to fag for 
Jones. If you tell him you’ve sent us, we’ll each of us 
give you such a thrashing as you’ll remember.” And 
Tom tore up the list and threw the pieces into the fire, 

“ And mind you, too,” said East, “ don’t let me catch 
you again sneaking about the School-house, and picking 
up our fags. You haven’t got the sort of hide to take 
a sound licking kindly ; ” and he opened the door and 
sent the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle, 
with a parting kick. 

“ Nice boy, Tommy,” said East, shoving his hands in 
his pockets and strolling to the fire. 

“Worst sort we breed,” responded Tom, following his 
example. “Thank goodness, no hig fellow’ ever took 
to petting me.” 

“ You’d never have been like that,” said East. “ I 
should like to have put him in a museum: — Christian 
young gentleman, nineteenth century, highly educated. 
Stir him up with a long pole. Jack, and hear him swear 
like a drunken sailor! He’d make a respectable public 
open its eyes, I think.” 

“Think he’ll tell Jones.^” said Tom. 

“No,” said East. “Don’t care if he does.” 

“Nor I,” said Tom. And they went back to talk 
about Arthur. 


276 


AN EPISODE 


The young gentleman had brains enough not to tell 
Jones, reasoning that East and Brown, who were noted 
as some of the toughest fags in the school, wouldn’t 
care three straws for any licking Jones might give 
them, and would be likely to keep their words as to 
passing it on with interest. 

After the above conversation East came a good deal 
to their study, and took notice of Arthur; and soon 
allowed to Tom that he w^as a thorough little gentleman, 
and would get over his shyness all in good time, wdiich 
much comforted our hero. He felt every day, too, 
the value of having an object in his life, something 
that drew him out of himself ; and, it being the dull 
time of the year, and no games going about w^hich he 
much cared, was happier than he had ever yet been at 
school, which was saying a great deal. 

The time which Tom allowed himself away from his 
charge was from locking-up till supper-time. During 
this hour or hour and a half he used to take his fling, 
going round to the studies of all his acquaintance, 
sparring or gossiping in the hall, now jumping the 
old iron-bound tables, or carving a bit of his name on 
them, then joining in some chorus of merry voices; in 
fact, blowing off his steam, as w'e should now' call it. 

This process was so congenial to his temper, and 
Arthur showed himself so pleased at the arrangement, 
that it was several weeks before Tom w'as ever in their 
study before supper. One evening, how^ever, he rushed 
in to look for an old chisel, or some corks, or other article 
essential to his pursuit for the time being, and while 
rummaging about in the cupboards, looked up for a 
moment, and was caught at once by the figure of poor 
little Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows on 
the table, and his head leaning on his hands, and before 
him an open book, on which his tears w'ere falling fast. 


LESSON NUMBER 2 


277 


Tom shut the door at once, and sat down on the sofa 
hy Arthur, putting his arm round his neck. 

“ Why, young un ! what’s the matter ” said he kindly ; 
“ 3mu ain’t unhappy, are you ? ” 

“ Oh, no. Brown,” said the little boy, looking up with 
the great tears in his eyes, “ you are so kind to me, I’m 
very happy.” 

“Why don’t you call me Tom.^ lots of boys do that 
I don’t like half so much as you. What are you reading, 
then ? Hang it, you must com^ about with me, and not 
mope yourself,” and Tom cast down his eyes on the 
book, and saw it was the Bible. He was silent for a 
minute, and thought to himself, “Lesson Number 2, 
Tom Brown;” — and then said gently: — 

“ I’m very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that 
I don’t read the Bible more myself. Do you read it 
every night before supper while I’m out.^” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I wish you’d wait till afterwards, and then 
we’d read together. But, Arthur, why does it make 
you cry ? ” 

“ Oh, it isn’t that I’m unhappy. But at home, w^hile 
my father was alive, we always read the lessons after 
tea ; and I love to read them over now, and try to remem- 
ber w'hat hef said about them. I can’t remember all, 
and I think I scarcely understand a great deal of what 
I do remember. But it all comes back to me so fresh, 
that I can’t help crying sometimes to think I shall never 
read them again with him.” 

Arthur had never spoken of his home before, and Tom 
hadn’t encouraged him to do so, as his blundering school- 
boy^ reasoning made him think that Arthur would be 
softened and less manly for thinking of home. But 
now he was fairly interested, and forgot all about chisels 
and bottled beer; while with very little encouragement 


278 


AllTEUE^S HOME 


Arthur launched into his home history, and the prayer 
bell put them both out sadly when it rang to call them 
to the hall. 

From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home, 
and, above all, of his father, who had been dead about 
a year, and whose memory Tom soon got to love and 
reverence almost as much as his owm son did. 

Arthur’s father had been the clergyman of a parisli 
in the Midland Counties, which had risen into a large 
town during the war, and upon which the hard years 
which followed had fallen with a fearful weight. The 
trade had been half ruined: and then came the old sad 
story, of masters reducing their establishments, men 
turned off* and ’wandering about, hungry and wan in 
body, and fierce in soul, from the thought of wives and 
children starving at home, and the last sticks of furni- 
ture going to the pawn-shop ; children taken from school, 
and lounging about the dirty streets and courts, too 
listless almost to play, and squalid in rags and misery ; 
and then the fearful struggle between the employers and 
men; lowerings of wages, strikes, and the long course 
of oft-repeated crime, ending every now and then with 
a riot, a fire, and the county yeomanry. There is no 
need here to dwell upon such tales ; the Englishman 
into whose soul they have not sunk deep is not worthy 
the name; you English boys for whom this book is 
meant (God bless your bright faces and kind hearts!) 
will learn it all soon enough. 

Into such a parish and state of society Arthur’s 
father had been thrown at the age of twenty -five, a 
young married parson, full of faith, hope, and love. 
He had battled with it like a man, and had lots of fine 
Utopian ideas about the perfectibility of mankind, glori- 
ous humanity, and such-like knocked out of his head ; 
and a real wholesome Christian love for the poor strug- 


AETHUB^S HOME 


279 


gling, sinning men, of whom lie felt himself one, aiul 
with and for whom he spent fortune, and strength, and 
life, driven into his heart. He had battled like a man, 
and gotten a man’s reward. No silver teapots or salvers, 
with flowery inscriptions, setting forth his virtues and 
the appreciation of a genteel parish; no fat living or 
stall, for which he never looked, and didn’t care; no 
sighs and praises of comfortable dowagers and well 
got-up young women who worked him slippers, sugared 
his tea, and adored him as “ a devoted man ; ” but a manly 
respect, wrung from the .unwilling souls of men who 
fancied bis order their natural enemies; the fear and 
hatred of every one who was false or unjust in the dis- 
trict, were he master or man ; and the blessed sight of 
women and children daily becoming more human and 
more homely, a comfort to themselves and to their hus- 
bands and fathers. 

These things of course took time, and had to be 
fought for with toil and sweat of brain and heart, and 
with the life-blood poured out. All that, Arthur had 
laid his account to give, and took as a matter of course ; 
neither pitying himself nor looking on himself as a 
martyr, when he felt the wear and tear making him feel 
old before his time, and the stifling air of fever dens 
telling on his health. His wife seconded him in every- 
thing. She had been rather fond of societ}^ and much 
admired and run after before her marriage; and the 
London world to which she had belonged pitied poor 
Fanny Evelyn when she married the young clergyman, 
and went to settle in that smoky hole Turley, a very 
nest of Chartism and Atheism, in a part of the country 
which all the decent families had had to leave for years. 
However, somehow or other she didn’t seem to care. If 
her husband’s living had been amongst green fields and 
near pleasant neighbors, she would have liked it better. 


280 


ARTHUR’S HOME 


that she never pretended to deny. But there they were : 
the air wasn’t bad after all; the people were very good 
sort of people, civil to you if you were civil to them, 
after the first brush ; and they didn’t expect to work 
miracles, and convert them all off-hand into model Chris- 
tians. So he and she went quietly among the folk, 
talking to and treating them just as they would have 
done people of their own rank. They didn’t feel that 
they were doing anything out of the common way, and 
so were perfectly natural, and had none of that con- 
descension or consciousness of manner, which so out- 
rages the independent poor. And thus they gradually 
won respect and confidence; and after sixteen years he 
was looked up to by the whole neighborhood as the just 
man, the man to whom masters and men could go in 
their strikes, and all in their quarrels and difficulties, and 
by whom the right and tme word would be said without 
fear or favor. And the women had come round to take 
her advice, and go to her as a friend in all their troubles ; 
while the children all worshiped the very ground she 
trod on. 

They had three children, twc daughters and a son, 
little Arthur, who came between his sisters. He had 
been a very delicate boy from his childhood ; they 
thought he had a tendency to consumption, and so he 
had been kept at home and taught by his father, who 
had made a companion of him, and from whom he had 
gained good scholarship, and a knowledge of and interest 
in many subjects which boys in general never come across 
till they are many years older. 

Just as he reached his thirteenth year, and his father 
had settled that he w’as strong enough to go to school, 
and, after much debating with himself, had resolved to 
send him there, a desperate typhus fever broke out in 
the town; most of the other clergy, and almost all the 


ARTHUR’S HOME 


281 


doctors, ran away ; the work fell with tenfold weight 
on those who stood to their work. Arthur and his wife 
both caught the fever, of which he died in a few days, 
and she recovered, having been able to nurse him to the 
end, and store up his last words. He was sensible to the 
last, and calm and happy, leaving his wife and children 
with fearless trust for a few ^^ears in the hands of the 
Lord and Friend who had lived and died for him, and 
for whom he, to the best of his pow'er, had lived and died. 
His widow’s mourning was deep and gentle; she was 
more affected by the request of the Committee of a Free- 
thinking Club, established in the town by some of the 
factory hands, (which he had striven against with might 
and main, and nearly suppressed,) that some of their 
number might be allowed to help bear the coffin, than 
by anything else. Two of them were chosen, who with 
six other laboring men, his own fellow-workmen and 
friends, bore him to his grave — a man who had fought 
the Lord’s fight even unto the death. The shops were 
closed and the factories shut that day in the parish, yet 
no master stopped the day’s wages; but for many a year 
afterwards the townsfolk felt the w’^ant of that brave, 
hopeful, loving parson, and his wife, who had lived to 
teach them mutual forbearance and helpfulness, and had 
almost at last given them a glimpse of what this old 
world would be, if people would live for God and each 
other, instead of for themselves. 

What has all this to do wuth our story.? Well, my 
dear boys, let a fellow go on his own way, or you won’t 
get anything out of him w^orth having. I must show 
you what sort of a man it was who had begotten and 
trained little Arthur, or else you w^on’t believe in him, 
which I am resolved you shall do; and you won’t see 
how he, the timid w^ak boy, had points in him from 
which the bravest and strongest recoiled, and made his 


282 


ART RUE’S ROME 


presence and example felt from the first on all sides, 
unconsciously to himself, and without the least attempt 
at proselytizing. The spirit of his father was in him, 
and the Friend to whom his father had left him did not 
neglect the trust. 

After supper that night, and almost nightly for years 
afterwards, Tom and Arthur, and by degrees East occa- 
sionally, and sometimes one, sometimes another, of their 
friends, read a chapter of the Bible together, and talked 
it over afterwards. Tom was at first utterly astonished, 
and almost shocked, at the sort of way in which Arthur 
read the book, and talked about the men and women 
whose lives were there told. The first night they hap- 
pened to fall on the chapters about the famine in Egypt, 
and Arthur began talking about Joseph as if he were 
a living statesman; just as he might have talked about 
Lord Grey and the Reform Bill; only that they were 
much more living realities to him. The book was to him, 
Tom saw, the most vivid and delightful history of real 
people, who might do right or wrong, just like any one 
who was walking about in Rugby — the Doctor, or the 
masters, or the sixth-form boys. But the astonishment 
soon passed off, the scales seemed to drop from his eyes, 
and the book became at once and forever to him the great 
human and divine hook, and the men and women, whom 
he had looked upon as something quite different from 
himself, became his friends and counselors. 

For our purposes, however, the history of one night’s 
reading will be sufficient, which must be told here, now 
we are on the subject, though it didn’t happen till a 
3^ear afterwards, and long after the events recorded in 
the next chapter of our story. 

Arthur, Tom, and East were together one night, and 
read the story of Naaman coming to Elisha to be cured 
of his leprosy. When the chapter was finished, Tom shut 
his Bible with a slap. 


EKSULTS OF LESSON NUMBER 2 283 

can’t stand that fellow Naaman,” said he, “after 
what he’d seen and felt, going back and bowing him- 
self down in the house of Rimmon, because his effemi- 
nate scoundrel of a master did it. I wonder Elisha took 
the trouble to heal him. How' he must have despised 
him.” 

“Yes, there you go off as usual, with a shell on your 
head,” struck in East, wdio ahvays took the opposite 
side to Tom; half from love of argument, half from 
conviction. “ How do you know he didn’t think better 
of it.^ how do you know his master was a scoundrel.^ 
His letter don’t look like it, and the book don’t say so.” 

“I don’t care,” rejoined Tom; “why did Naaman 
talk about bowing down, then, if he didn’t mean to do 
it.^ He wasn’t likely to get more in earnest when he 
got back to Court, and away from the Prophet.” 

“Well, but, Tom,” said Arthur, “look what Elisha 
says to him : ‘ Go in peace.’ He wouldn’t have said 

that if Naaman had been in the wrong.” 

“ I don’t see that that means more than saying, 
‘You’re not the man I took you for.”’ 

“No, no, that w'on’t do at all,” said East; “read the 
words fairly, and take men as you find them. I like 
Naaman, and think he w^as a very fine fellow.” 

“ I don’t,” said Tom positively. 

“ Well, I think East is right,” said Arthur ; “ I can’t 
see but what it’s right to do the best you can, though 
it mayn’t be the best absolutely. Every man isn’t bom 
to be a martyr.” 

“ Of course, of course,” said East ; “ but he’s on one 
of his pet hobbies. How often have I told you, Tom, 
that you must drive a nail where it’ll go.” 

“And how often have I told you,” rejoined Tom, 
“that it’ll always go where you want, if you only stick 
to it and hit hard enough. I hate half-measures and 
compromises.” 


284 


TEE BKOWN COMPROMISE 


“Yes, he’s a whole-hog man, is Tom. Must have 
the whole animal, hair and teeth, claws and tail,” laughed 
East. “ Sooner have no bread any day than half the 
loaf.” 

“I don’t know,” said Arthur, “it’s rather puzzling; 
but ain’t most right things got by proper compromises, 
I mean where the principle isn’t given up.'^” 

“That’s just the point,” said Tom; “I don’t object 
to a compromise, where you don’t give up your prin- 
ciple.” 

“ Not you,” said East laughingly. “ I know him of 
old, Arthur, and you’ll find him out some day. There 
isn’t such a reasonable fellow in the world, to hear him 
talk. He never wants anything but what’s right and 
fair; only when you come to settle what’s right and fair, 
it’s everything that he wants, and nothing that you want. 
And that’s his idea of a compromise. Give me the Brown 
compromise when I’m on his side.” 

“Now, Harry,” said Tom, “no more chaff — I’m 
serious. Look here — this is what makes my blood 
tingle ; ” and he turned over the pages of his Bible 
and read, “ Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered 
and said to the king, ‘ O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not 
careful to answer thee in this matter. If it he so, our 
God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burn- 
ing fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of thine 
hand, O king. But if not, be it known unto thee, O 
king, that w^e will not serve thy gods, nor w^orship the 
golden image which thou hast set up.’ ” He read the 
last verse twice, emphasizing the “ nots,” and dwelling 
on them as if they gave him actual pleasure, and were 
hard to part with. 

They were silent a minute, and then Arthur said, “ Yes, 
that’s a glorious story, but it don’t prove your point, 
Tom, I think. There are times when there is only one 


TBE BROWN COMBROMISE 


285 


way, and that the highest, and then the men are found 
to stand in the breach.” 

“ There’s always a highest way, and it’s always the 
right one,” said Tom. “ How many times has the Doctor 
told us that in his sermons in the last year, I should 
like to know.?” 

“Well, you ain’t going to convince us, is he, Arthur.^ 
No Brown compromise tonight,” said East, looking at 
his watch. “ But it’s past eight, and we must go to 
first lesson. What a bore ! ” 

Sa they took down their books and fell to work; but 
Arthur didn’t forget, and thought long and often over 
the conversation. 


CHAPTER III 


ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND 

Let Nature be your teacher, 

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; 

Our meddling intellect 

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things. 

We murder to dissect — 

Enough of Science and of Art; 

Close up those barren leaves; 

Come forth, and bring with you a heart 

That watches and receives. 

Wordsworth. 

About six weeks after the beginning of the half, as 
Tom and Arthur were sitting one night before supper 
beginning their verses, Arthur suddenly, stopped, and 
looked up, and said, “Tom, do you know anything of 
Martin ” 

“Yes,” said Tom, taking his hand out of his back 
hair, and delighted to throw his “ Gradus ad Parnas- 
sum ” on to the sofa, “I know him pretty well. He’s 
a very good fellow, but as mad as a hatter. He’s called 
Madman, you know. And never was such a fellow’ for 
getting all sorts of rum things about him. He tamed 
tw’o snakes last half, and used to carry them about in* 
his pocket, and I’ll be bound he’s got some hedgehogs 
and rats in his cupboard now, and no one knows w’hat 
besides.” 

“ I should like very much to know him,” said Arthur ; 
“ he was next to me in the form today, and he’d lost 

286 


TROUBLES OF A BOY-PHILOSOPHER 


287 


his book and looked over mine, and he seemed so kind 
and gentle, that I liked him very much.” 

Ah, poor old Madman, he’s always losing his books,” 
said Tom, “and getting called up and floored because 
he hasn’t got them.” 

“I like him all the better,” said Arthur. 

“Well, he’s great fun, I can tell you,” said Tom, 
throwing himself back on the sofa, and chuckling at tlie 
remembrance. “We had such a game with him one dav 
last half. He had been kicking up horrid stinks for 
some time in his study, till I suppose some fellow told 
Mary, and she told the Doctor. Anyhow, one day a 
little before dinner, when he came down from the library, 
the Doctor, instead of going home, came striding into 
the hall. East and I and five or six other fellows were 
at the Are, and preciously we stared, for he don’t come 
in like that once a year, unless it is a wet day and there’^ 
a fight in the hall. ‘East,’ says he, ‘just come and shov-’ 
me Martin’s study.’ ‘ Oh, here’s a game,’ whispered the 
rest of us, and we all cut upstairs after the Doctor, 
East leading. As we got into the New Row, which was 
hardly wide enough to hold the Doctor and his gown, 
click, click, click, we heard in the old Madman’s den. 
Then that stopped all of a sudden, and the bolts went 
to like fun : the Madman knew East’s step, and thought 
there was going to be a siege. 

“‘It’s the Doctor, Martin. He’s here and wants to 
see you,’ sings out East. 

“ Then the bolts went back slowly, and the door 
opened, and there was the old Madman standing, look- 
ing precious scared; his jacket off, his shirt-sleeves up 
to his elbows, and his long skinny arms all covered with 
anchors and arrows and letters, tattooed in with gun- 
powder like a sailor-boy’s, and a stink fit to knock you 
down coming out. ’Twas all the Doctor could do to 


288 


TROUBLES OF A BOY-PHILOSOPHER 


stand Ills ground, and East and I, who were looking in 
under his arms, held our noses tight. The old magpie 
was standing on the windowsill, all his feathers drooping, 
and looking disgusted and half poisoned. 

‘‘ ‘ What can you be about, Martin ? ’ says the Doctor ; 
‘you really mustn’t go on in this way — you’re a nuis- 
ance to the whole passage.’ 

“ ‘ Please, sir, I was onfy mixing up this powder, 
there isn’t any harm in it;’ and the Madman seized 
nervously on his pestle-and-mortar, to show the Doctor 
the harmlessness of his pursuits, and went off pounding ; 
click, click, click; he hadn’t given six clicks before, 
puff! up went the whole into a great blaze, a^vay went 
the pestle-and-mortar across the study, and back we 
tumbled into the passage. The magpie fluttered down 
into the. court, swearing, and the Madman danced out, 
howling, with his fingers in his mouth. The Doctor 
caught hold of him, and called to us to fetch some water. 
‘ There, you silly fellow,’ said he, quite pleased, though, 
to find he wasn’t much hurt, ‘you see you don’t know 
the least what you’re doing wdth all these things ; aiid 
now, mind, you must give up practicing chemistry by 
yourself.’ Then he took hold of his arm and looked at 
it, and I saw he had to bite his lip, and his eyes twinkled ; 
but he said quite grave, ‘Here, you see, you’ve been 
making all these foolish marks on yourself, which you 
can never get out, and you’ll be very sorry for it in a 
year or two ; now come down to the housekeeper’s room, 
and let us see if you are hurt.’ And away went the two, 
and we all stayed and had a regular turn-out of the den, 
till Martin came back with his hand bandaged and 
turned us out. However, I’ll go and see what he’s 
after, and tell him to come in after prayers to supper.” 
And away went Tom to find the boy in question, who 
dwelt in a little study by himself, in New Row. 


TROUBLES OF A BOY-PHILOSOPHER 


289 


The aforesaid Martin, whom Arthur had taken such 
a fancy for, was one of those unfortunates who were at 
that time of day (and are, I fear, still) quite out of 
their places at a public school. If we knew how to use 
our boys, Martin would have been seized upon and edu- 
cated as a natural philosopher. He had a passion for 
birds, beasts, and insects, and knew more of them and 
their habits than any one in Rugby, except perhaps the 
Doctor, who knew' everything. He was also an experi- 
mental chemist on a small scale, and had made unto 
himself an electric machine, from wRich it was his 
greatest pleasure and glory to administer small shocks to 
any small boys w^ho were rash enough to venture into 
his study. And this was by no means an adventure free 
from excitement; for, besides the probability of a snake 
dropping on to your head or tw'ining lovingly up your 
leg, or a rat getting into your breeches-pocket in search 
of food, there w^as the animal and chemical odor to be 
faced, which alw^ays hung about the den, and the chance 
of being blown up in some of the many experiments 
which Martin was always trying, with the most wondrous 
results in the shape of explosions and smells that mortal 
boy ever heard of. Of course, poor Martin, in con- 
sequence of his pursuits, had become an Ishmaelite in 
the house. In the first place, he half poisoned all his 
neighbors, and they in turn were always on the lookout 
to pounce upon any of his numerous live-stock, and 
drive him frantic by enticing his pet old magpie out of 
his wdndow into a neighboring study, and making the 
disreputable old bird drunk on toast soaked in beer and 
sugar. Then Martin, for his sins, inhabited a study 
looking into a small court some ten feet across, the 
window' of which was completely commanded by those 
of the studies opposite in the sick-room row, these latter 
being at a slightly higher elevation. East, and another 


290 


TROUBLES OF A BOY-PHILOSOPHER 


boj of an equally tormenting and ingenious turn of 
mind, now lived exactly opposite, and had expended 
huge pains and time in the preparation of instruments 
of annoyance for the behoof of Martin and his live 
colony. One morning an old basket made its appear- 
ance, suspended by a short cord outside Martin’s window, 
in which were deposited an amateur nest containing four 
young hungry jackdaws, the pride and glory of Martin’s 
life for the time being, and which he was currently 
asserted to have hatched upon his own person. Early 
in the morning and late at night he was to be seen half 
out of window, administering to the varied wants of his 
callow brood. After deep cogitation. East and his chum 
had spliced a knife on to the end of a fishing-rod ; and 
having watched Martin out, had, after half an hour’s 
severe sawing, cut the string by which the basket was 
suspended, and tumbled it on to the pavement below, with 
hideous remonstrance from the occupants. Poor Martin, 
returning from his short absence, collected the fragments 
and replaced his brood (except one whose neck had been 
broken in the descent) in their old location, suspending 
them this time by string and wire twisted together, 
defiant of any sharp instrument which his persecutors 
could command. But, like the Russian engineers at 
Sebastopol, East and his chum had an answer for every 
move of the adversary; and the next day had mounted 
a gun in the shape of a pea-shooter upon the ledge of 
their window, trained so as to bear exactly upon the 
spot which Martin had to occupy while tending his 
nurslings. The moment he began to feed they began 
to shoot; in vain did the enemy himself invest in a pea- 
shooter, and endeavor to answer the fire while he fed the 
young birds with his other hand ; his attention was 
divided, and his shots flew wild, while every one of theirs 
told on his face and hands, and drove him into howlings 


THE PHILOSOPHER’S DEN 


291 


and imprecations. He liad been driven to ensconce tlie 
nest in a corner of his already too well-filled den. 

His door was barricaded by a set of ingenious boUs 
of his own invention, for the sieges were frequent hv 
the neighbors when any unusually ambrosial odor spread 
itself from the den to the neighboring studies. The 
door panels were in a normal state of smash, but the 
frame of the door resisted all besiegers, and behind it 
the owner carried on his varied pursuits ; much in the 
same state of mind, I should fancy, as a border-farmer 
lived in, in the days of the old moss-troopers, when his 
hold might be summoned or his cattle carried off at any 
minute of night or day. 

“Open, Martin, old boy — it’s only I, Tom Brown.” 

“Oh, very well, stop a moment.” One bolt went back. * 
“You’re sure East isn’t there 

“ No, no, hang it, open.” Tom gave a kick, the other 
bolt creaked, and he entered the den. 

Den indeed it was, about five feet six inches long bv 
five wide, and seven feet high. About six tattered school- 
books and a few chemical books, Taxidermy, Stanley on 
Birds, and an odd volume of Bewick, the latter in much 
better preservation, occupied the top shelves. The other 
shelves, where they had not been cut away and used by 
the owner for other purposes, were fitted up for the abid- 
ing places of birds, beasts, and reptiles. There was no 
attempt at carpet or curtain. The table was entirely 
occupied by the great work of Martin, the electric 
machine, which was covered carefully with the remains 
of his tablecloth. The jackdaw cage occupied one wall, 
and the other was adorned by a small hatchet, a pair of 
climbing irons, and his tin candle box, in which he was 
for the time being endeavoring to raise a hopeful young 
family of field-mice. As nothing should be let to lie 
useless, it was well that the candle box was thus occu- 


292 


THE INVITATION 


pied, for candles Martin never had. A pound was issued 
to him weekly as to the other boys ; but as candles were 
available capital, and easily exchangeable for birds’-eggs 
or young birds, Martin’s pound invariably found its 
way in a- few hours to Howlett’s the bird-fancier’s, in 
the Bilton-road, who would give a hawk’s or night- 
ingale’s egg or young linnet in exchange. Martin’s 
ingenuity was therefore forever on the rack to supply 
himself with a light; just now he had hit upon a grand 
invention, and the den was lighted by a flaring cotton- 
wick issuing from a ginger-beer bottle full of some dole- 
ful composition. When light altogether failed him, 
Martin would loaf about by the fires in the passages or 
hall, after the manner of Diggs, and try to do his verses 
or learn his lines by the firelight. 

“Well, old boy, you haven’t got any sweeter in 
the den this half. How that stuff in the bottle stinks. 
Never mind, I ain’t going to stop, but you come up after 
prayers to our study ; you know young Arthur, we’ve 
got Gray’s study. We’ll have a good supper and talk 
about birds’-nesting.” . 

Martin was evidently highly pleased at the invitation, 
and promised to be up without fail. 

As soon as prayers were over, and the sixth and fifth 
form boys had withdrawn to the aristocratic seclusion 
of their own room, and the rest, or democracy, had sat 
down to their supper in the hall, Tom and Arthur, hav- 
ing secured their allowances of bread and cheese, started 
on their feet to catch the eye of the praepostor of the 
week, who remained in charge during supper, walking 
up and down the hall. He happened to be an easy-going 
fellow, so they got a. pleasant nod to their “Please may 
I go out.^” and away they scrambled to prepare for 
Martin a sumptuous banquet. This Tom had insisted 
on, for he was in great delight on the occasion; the 


TOM’S JVOEK 


293 


reason of wliich delight must be expounded. The fact 
was that this was the first attempt at a friendship of 
his own which Arthur had made, and Tom hailed it as a 
gi’and step. The ease with which he himself became 
hail-fellow-well-met with anybody, and blundered into 
and out of twenty friendships a half-year, made him 
sometimes sorrji^ and sometimes angry at Arthur’s reserve 
and loneliness. True, Arthur was always pleasant, and 
even jolly, with any boys who came with Tom to their 
study; but Tom felt that it was only through him, as it 
were, that his chum associated with others, and that but 
for him Arthur wmuld have been dwelling in a wilderness. 
This increased his consciousness of responsibility; and 
though he hadn’t reasoned it out and made it clear to 
himself, yet somehow he knew that this responsibility, 
this trust which he bad^ taken on him without thinking 
about it, head-over-heels in fact, was the center and turn- 
ing-point of his school life, that which was to make him 
or mar him ; his appointed work and trial for the time 
being. And Tom was becoming a new boy, though with 
frequent tumbles in the dirt and perpetual hard battle 
with himself, and was daily growing in manfulness and 
thoughtfulness, as every high-cou raged and well-prin- 
cipled boy must, when he finds himself for the first time 
consciously at grips with self and the devil. Already he 
could turn almost without a sigh from the school gates, 
from which had just scampered off East and three or 
four others of his own particular set, bound for some 
jolly lark not quite according to law, and involving 
probably a row with louts, keepers, or farm-laborers, the 
skipping dinner or calling-over, some of Phoebe Jennings’ 
beer, and a very possible flogging at the end of all as 
a relish. He had quite got over the stage in which he 
ivould grumble to himself, “Well, hang it, it’s very hard 
of the Doctor to have saddled me with Arthur. Why 


294 


TOM' IS WORK 


couldn’t he have chummed him with Fogey, or Thomkin, 
or any of the fellows who never do anything but walk 
round the close, and finish their copies the first day they’re 
set?” But although all this was past, he often longed, 
and felt that he was right in longing, for more time for 
the legitimate pastimes of cricket, fives, bathing, and 
fishing within bounds, in which Arthur could not yet 
be his companion; and he lelt that when the young un 
(as he now generally called him) had found a pursuit 
and some other friend for himself, he should be able to 
give more time to the education of his own body with a 
clear conscience. 

And now what he so wished for had come to pass ; he 
almost hailed it as a special providence (as indeed it was, 
but not for the reasons he gave for it — what provi- 
dences are?) that Arthur should have singled out Martin 
of all fellows for a friend. “The old Madman is the 
very fellow,” thought he; “he will take him scrambling 
over half the country after birds’ eggs and flowers, make 
him run and swim and climb like an Indian, and not 
teach him a word of anything bad or keep him from his 
lessons. What luck ! ” And so, with more than his 
usual heartiness, he dived into his cupboard, and hauled 
out an old knuckle-bone of ham, and two or three bottles 
of beer, together with the solemn pewter only used on 
state occasions; while Arthur, equally elated at the easy 
accomplishment of his first act of volition in the joint 
establishment, produced from his side a bottle of pickles 
and a pot of jam, and cleared the table. In a minute or 
two the noise of the boys coming up from supper was 
heard, and Martin, knocked and was admitted, bearing 
his bread and cheese, and the three fell to with hearty 
good-will upon the viands, talking faster than they ate, 
for all shyness disappeared in a moment before Tom’s 
bottled beer and hospitable ways. “ Here’s Arthur, a reg- 


THE SUPPER 


295 


ular young town-mouse, with a natural taste for the 
woods, Martin, longing to break his neck climbing trees, 
and with a passion for young snakes.” 

“ Well, I say,” sputtered out Martin eagerly, “ will 
you come tomorrow, both of you, to Caldecott’s Spinney, 
then, for I know of a kestrel’s nest, up a fir-tree — I 
can’t get at it without help ; and. Brown, you can cKmb 
against any one.” 

“ Oh, yes, do let us go,” said Arthur ; ‘‘ I never saw a 
hawk’s nest nor a hawk’s egg.” 

“You just come down to my study, then, and I’ll 
show you five sorts,” said Martin. 

“ Ay, the old Madman has got the best collection in 
the house, out and out,” said Tom; and then Martin, 
warming with unaccustomed good cheer and the chance 
of a convert, launched out into a proposed birds’-nesting 
campaign, betraying all manner of important secrets : 
a golden-crested wren’s nest near Butlin’s Mound, a 
moor-hen who was sitting on nine eggs in a pond down 
the Barby-road, and a kingfisher’s nest in a corner of the 
old canal above Brownsover Mill. He had heard, he said, 
that no one had ever got a kingfisher’s nest out perfect, 
and that the British Museum, or the Government, or 
somebody, had offered £100 to any one who could bring 
them a nest and eggs not damaged. In the middle of 
which astounding announcement, to which the others were 
listening with open ears, and already considering the 
application of the £100, a knock came to the door, and 
East’s voice was heard craving admittance. 

“ There’s Harry,” said Tom ; “ we’ll let him in — I’ll 
keep him steady, Martin. I thought the old boy would 
smell out the supper.” 

The fact was that Tom’s heart had already smitten him 
for not asking his “fidus Achates ” to the feast, although 
only an extempore affair; and thougli prudence and the 


296 


TEE SUPPEB 


desire to get Martin and Arthur together alone at first 
had overcome his scruples, he was now heartily glad to 
open the door, broach another bottle of beer, and hand 
over the old ham-knuckle to the searching of his friend’s 
pocket-knife. 

“ Ah, 3^ou greedy vagabonds,” said East, with his 
mouth full, “ I knew there was something going on 
when I saw you cut out of hall so quick with your 
suppers. What a stunning tap, Tom ! you are a wunner 
for bottling the swipes.” 

“ I’ve had practice enough for the sixth in my time, 
and it’s hard if I haven’t picked up a wrinkle or two 
for my own benefit.” 

“Well, old Madman, and how goes the birds’-nesting 
campaign.? . How’s Howlett.? I expect the young 
rooks’ll be out in another fortnight, and then my turn 
comes.” 

“There’ll be no young rooks fit for pies for a month 
yet; shows how much you know about it,” rejoined 
Martin, who, though very good friends with East, 
regarded him with considerable suspicion for his pro- 
pensity to practical jokes. 

“ Scud knows nothing and cares for nothing but grub 
and mischief,” said Tom ; “ but young rook pie, ’specially 
when you’ve had to climb for them, is very pretty eating. 
However, I say. Scud, we’re all going after a hawk’s 
nest tomorrow, in Caldecott’s Spinney ; and if you’ll 
come and behave yourself, we’ll have a stunning climb.” 

“ And a bathe in Aganippe. Hooray ! I’m your man.” 

“ No, no ; no bathing in Aganippe ; that’s where our 
betters go.” 

“Well, well, never mind. I’m for the hawk’s nest 
and anything that turns up.” 

And the bottled beer being finished, and his hunger 
appeased. East departed to his study, “ that sneak 


VU LOUSES 


297 


Jones,” as he informed them, wlio had just got into the 
sixth and occupied the next study, having instituted a 
nightly visitation upon East and his chum, to their no 
small discomfort. 

When he was gone, Martin rose to follow, but Tom 
stopped him. “No one goes near New Row,” said he, 
“so you may just as well stop liere and do your verses, 
and then we’ll have some more talk. We’ll be no end 
quiet ; besides, no praepostor comes here now — we haven’t 
been visited once this half.” 

So the table was cleared, the cloth restored, and the 
three fell to work with Gradus and dictionary upon the 
morning’s vulgus. 

They were three very fair examples of the way in 
which such tasks were done at Rugby, in the consulship 
of Plancus. And doubtless the method is little changed, 
for there is nothing new under the sun, especially at 
schools. 

Now be it known unto all you boys who are at schools 
which do not rejoice in the time-honored institution of 
the Vulgus, ( commonly supposed to have been established 
by William of Wykeham at Winchester, and imported 
to Rugb}’^ by Arnold, more for the sake of the lines 
which were learnt by heart with it than for its own 
intrinsic value, as I’ve always understood,) that it is a 
short exercise, in Greek or Latin verse, on a given sub- 
ject, the minimum number of lines being fixed for each 
form. The master of the form gave out at fourth lesson 
on the previous day the subject for next morning’s 
vulgus, and at first lesson each boy had to bring his 
vulgus ready to be looked over; and with the vulgus, 
a certain number of lines from one of the Latin or Greek 
poets then being construed in the form had to be got by 
heart. The master at first lesson called up each boy in 
the form in order, and put him on In the lines. If he 


298 


ru LOUSES 


couldn’t saj them, or seem to say them, by reading them 
off* the master’s or some other boy’s book who stood near, 
he was sent back, and went below all the boys who did 
so say or seem to say them ; but in either case his vulgus 
was looked over by the master, who gave and entered in 
his book, to the credit or discredit of the boy, so many 
marks as the composition merited. At Rugby vulgus 
and lines were the first lesson every other day in the 
week, or Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays; and as 
there w^ere thirty-eight weeks in the school year, it is 
obvious to the meanest capacity that the master of each 
form had to set one hundred and fourteen subjects every 
year, two hundred and twenW-eight every two years, and 
so on. Now, to persons of moderate invention this was 
a considerable task, and human nature being prone to 
repeat itself, it will not be wondered that the masters 
gave the same subjects sometimes over again after a 
certain lapse of time. To meet and rebuke this bad 
habit of the masters, the school-boy mind, with its accus- 
tomed ingenuity, had invented an elaborate system of 
tradition. Almost every boy kept his own vulgus written 
out in a book, and these books were duly handed down 
from boy to boy, till (if the tradition has gone on till 
now) I suppose the popular boys, in whose hands be- 
queathed vulgus-books have accumulated, arc prepared 
with three or four vulguses on any subject in heaven or 
earth or in “more worlds than one,” which an unfortu- 
nate master can pitch upon. At any rate, such lucky 
fellows had generally one for themselves and one for a 
friend in my time. The only objection to the tradi- 
tionary method of doing your vulguses was, the risk 
that the successions might have become confused, and so 
that you and another follower of traditions should show 
up the same identical vulgus some fine morning ; in which 
case, when it happened, considerable grief was the result 


VULGUSES 


299 


— but when did such risk hinder boys or men from short 
cuts and pleasant paths? 

Now in the study that night Tom was the upholder 
of the traditionary method of vulgus doing. He care- 
fully produced two large vulgus-books, and began 
diving into them, and picking out a line here, and an 
ending there, (tags as they were vulgarly called,) till 
he had gotten all that he thought he could make fit. 
He then proceeded to patch his tags together with the 
help of his Gradus, producing an incongruous and feeble 
result of eight elegiac lines, the minimum quantity for 
his form, and finishing up with two highly moral lines 
extra, making ten in all, which he cribbed entire from 
one of his books, beginning “ O genus humanum,” and 
which he himself must have used a dozen times before, 
whenever an unfortunate or wicked hero, of whatever 
nation or language under the sun, was the subject. 
Indeed, he began to have great doubts whether the 
master wouldn’t remember them, and so only threw them 
in as extra lines, because in any case they would call off 
attention from the other tags, and if detected, being 
extra lines, he wouldn’t be sent back to do two more in 
their place, while if they passed muster again he would 
get marks for them. 

The second method, pursued by Martin, may be called 
the dogged, or prosaic method. He no more than Tom 
took any pleasure in the task, but having no old vulgus- 
books of his own, or any one’s else, could not follow the 
traditionary method, for which, too, as Tom remarked, 
he hadn’t the genius. iMartin then proceeded to write 
down eight lines in English, of the most matter-of-fact 
kind, the first that came into his head ; and to convert 
these, line by line, by main force of Gradus and dic- 
tionary, into Latin that would scan. This was all he 
cared for, to produce eight lines Avith no false quantities 


300 


VULGUSEIS 


or concords: whether the words were apt, or what the 
sense was, mattered nothing; and, as the article was all 
new, not a line beyond the minimum did the followers 
of the dogged method ever produce. 

The third, or artistic method, was Arthur’s. He con- 
sidered first what point in the character or event which 
was the subject could most neatly be brought out within 
the limits of a vulgus, trying always to get his idea into 
the eight lines, but not binding himself to ten or even 
twelve lines if he couldn’t do this. He then set to work, 
as much as possible without Gradus or other help, to 
clothe his idea in appropriate Latin or Greek, and would 
not be satisfied till he had polished it well up with the 
aptest and most poetic words and phrases he could get at. 

A fourth method, indeed, was used in the school, but 
of too simple a kind to require a comment. It may be 
called the vicarious method, obtained amongst big boys 
of lazy or bullying habits, and consisted simply in mak- 
ing clever boys whom they could thrash do their whole 
vulgus for them, and construe it to them afterwards; 
which latter is a method not to be encouraged, and which 
I strongly advise you all not to practice. Of the others, 
you will find the traditionary most troublesome, unless 
you can steal your vulguses whole, (experto crede^) and 
that the artistic method pays the best both in marks and 
other ways. 

The vulguses being finished by nine o’clock, and 
Martin having rejoiced above measure in the abundance 
of light, and of Gradus and dictionary, and other con- 
veniences almost unknown to him for getting through the 
work, and having been pressed by Arthur to come and 
do his verses there whenever he liked, the three boys went 
down to Martin’s den, and Arthur was initiated into the 
lore of birds’ eggs, to his great delight. The exquisite 
coloring and forms astonished and charmed him, who had 


MABTIN’S DEN 


301 


scarcely ever seen any but a hen’s egg or an ostrich’s ; 
and by the time he was lugged away to bed he had learnt 
the names of at least twenty sorts, and dreamt of the 
glorious perils of Iree-climbing and that he had found a 
roc’s egg in the island as big as Sinbad’s and clouded 
like a tit-lark’s, in blowing which Martin and he had 
nearly been drowned in the yolk. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE BIRD-FANCIERS 

I have found out a gift for my fair, 

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: 

But let me the plunder forbear, 

She would say ’twas a barbarous deed. 

Eowe. 

And now, my lad, take them five shilling, 

And on my advice in future think; 

So Billy pouched them all so willing. 

And got that night disguised in drink. 

Ballad. 

The next morning at first lesson Tom was turned back 
in his lines, and so had to wait till the second round, 
while Martin and Arthur said theirs all right and got 
out of school at once. When Tom got out and ran dow n 
to breakfast at Harrowell’s they were missing, and 
Stumps informed him that they had swallow^ed down 
their breakfasts and gone off together, where, he couldn’t 
say. Tom hurried over his own breakfast, and went first 
to Martin’s study and then to his own, but no signs of 
the missing boys were to be found. He felt half angry 
and jealous of Martin — where could they be gone.? 

He learnt second lesson with East and the rest in no 
very good temper, and then went out into the quad- 
rangle. About ten minutes before school Martin and 
Arthur arrived in the quadrangle breathless; and catch- 
ing sight of him, Arthur rushed up all excitement and 
with a bright glow on his face. 


302 


TOM PUT OUT 


303 


“ Oh, 'lorn, look here,” cried he, holding out three 
moor-hen’s eggs ; “ we’ve been down the Barby-road to 
the pool Martin told us of last night, and just see what 
we’ve got.” 

Tom wouldn’t be pleased, and only looked out for 
something to find fault with. 

‘‘ Why, young un,” said he, “ what have you been 
after You don’t mean to say you’ve been wading .f*” 
The tone of reproach made poor little Arthur shrink 
up in a moment and look piteous, and Tom with a shrug 
of his shoulders turned his anger on Martin. 

“ Well, I didn’t think. Madman, that you’d have been 
such a muff as to let him be getting wet through at this 
time of day. You might have done the wading your- 
self.” 

“So I did, of course, only he would come in, too, to 
see the nest. We left six eggs in; they’ll be hatched in 
a day or two.” 

“Hang the eggs!” said Tom; “a fellow can’t turn 
his back for a moment but all his work’s undone. He’ll 
be laid up for a week for this precious lark. I’ll be 
bound.” 

“Indeed, Tom, now,” pleaded Arthur, “my feet ain’t 
wet, for Martin made me take off my shoes and stockings 
and trousers.” 

“But they are wet and dirty, too — can’t I see.^” 
answered Tom ; “ and you’ll be called up and floored 
when the master sees what a state you’re in. You haven’t 
looked at second lesson, you know.” Oh, Tom, you old 
humbug! you to be upbraiding any one with not learn- 
ing their lessons. If you hadn’t been floored yourself 
now at first lesson, do you mean to say you wouldn'^’t 
have been with them.^ and you’ve taken away all poor 
little Arthur’s joy and pride in his first birds’ eggs, and 
he goes and puts them down in the study, and takes 


304 


BIEDS’ -NESTING 


down his books with a sigh, thinking he has done some- 
thing horribly wrong, whereas he has learnt on in advance 
much more than will be done at second lesson. 

But the old Madman hasn’t, and gets called up and 
makes some frightful shots, losing about ten places, and 
all but getting floored. This somewhat appeases Tom’s 
wrath, and by the end of the lesson he has regained his 
temper. And afterwards in their study he begins to get 
right again as he watches Arthur’s intense joy at seeing 
Martin blowing the eggs and glueing them carefully on 
to bits of cardboard, and notes the anxious loving looks 
which the little fellow casts sidelong at him. And then 
he thinks, “What an ill-tempered beast I am! Here’s 
just what I was wishing for last night come about, and 
I’m spoiling it all,” and in another five minutes has 
swallowed the last mouthful of his bile, and is repaid 
by seeing his little sensitive plant expand again, and sun 
itself in his smiles. 

After dinner the Madman is busy with the prepara- 
tions for their expedition, fitting new straps on to his 
climbing-irons, filling large pill-boxes with cotton-w^ool, 
and sharpening East’s small axe. They carry all their 
munitions into calling-over, and directly afterwards, hav- 
ing dodged such praepostors as are on the lookout for 
fags at cricket, the four set off at a smart trot down the 
Lawford footpath straight for Caldecott’s Spinney and 
the hawk’s nest. 

Martin leads the way in high feather; it is quite a new 
sensation to him getting companions, and he finds it 
very pleasant, and means to show them all manner of 
proofs of his science and skill. Browm and East may 
be better at cricket and football and games, thinks he, 
but out in the fields and woods see if I can’t teach them 
something. He has taken the leadership already, and 
strides away in front wuth his climbing-irons strapped 


BIBDS ’-NESTING 


305 


under one aiTn, his pecking-bag under the other, and his 
pockets and hat full of pill-boxes, cotton-wool, and other 
etceteras. Each of the others carries a pecking-bag, and 
East his hatchet. 

When they had crossed three or four fields without a 
check, Arthur began to lag, and Tom seeing this shouted 
to Martin to pull up a bit: “We ain’t out hare-and- 
hounds — what’s the good of grinding on at this rate.?” 

“ There’s the spinney,” said Martin, pulling up on 
the brow of a slope at the bottom of which lay liawford 
brook, and pointing to the top of the opposite slope; 
“the nest is in one of those high fir-trees at this end. 
And down by the brook there, I know of a sedge-bird’s 
nest; we’ll go and look at it coming back.” 

“ Oh, come on, don’t let us stop,” said Arthur, who 
was getting excited at the sight of the wood; so they 
broke into a trot again, and were soon across the brook, 
up the slope, and into the spinney. Here th,ey advanced 
as noiselessly as possible, lest keepers or other enemies 
should be about, and stopped at the foot of a tall fir, 
at the top of which Martin pointed out with pride the 
kestrel’s nest, the object of their quest. 

“Oh, where! which is it.?” asks Arthur, gaping up 
in the air, and having the most vague idea of what it 
wmuld be like. 

“There, don’t you see.?” said East, pointing to a 
lump of mistletoe in the next tree, w'hich was a beech : 
he saw that Martin and Tom were busy wdth the climb- 
ing-irons, and couldn’t resist the temptation of hoaxing. 
Arthur stared and wondered more than ever. 

“ Well, how^ curious ! it doesn’t look a bit like what 
I expected,” said he. 

“Very odd birds, kestrels,” said East, looking wag- 
gishly at his victim, w^ho w^as still star-gazing. 

“ But I thought it was in a fir-tree.? ” objected Arthur. 


306 


BIBDS ’-NESTING 


“ Ah, don’t you know ? that’s a new sort of fir which 
old Caldecott brought from the Himalayas.” 

“ Really ! ” said Arthur ; “ I’m glad I know that — 
how unlike our firs they are ! They do very well, too, 
here, don’t they.? the spinney’s full of them.” 

“What’s that humbug he’s telling you.^” cried Tom, 
looking up, having caught the word Himalayas, and sus- 
pecting what East was after. 

“ Only about this fir,” said Arthur, putting his hand 
on the stenr of the beech. 

“ Fir ! ” shouted Tom ; “ why, you don’t mean to say, 
jmung un, you don’t know a beech when you see one?” 

I’oor little Arthur looked terribly ashamed, and P^ast 
exploded in laughter which made the wood ring. 

“ I’ve hardly ever seen any trees,” faltered Arthur. 

“What a shame to hoax him. Scud!” cried Martin. 
“ Never mind, Arthur, you shall know more about trees 
than he does in a week or two.” 

“ And isn’t that the kestrel’s nest, then ?_ ” asked 
Arthur. 

“ That ! why, that’s a piece of mistletoe. There’s the 
nest, that lump of sticks up this fir.” 

“ Don’t believe him, Arthur,” struck in the incorrigible 
East; “I just saw an old magpie go out of it.” 

Martin did not deign to reply to this sally, except l)y 
a grunt, as he buckled the last buckle of his climbing- 
irons; and Arthur looked reproachfully at East without 
speaking. 

Rut now came the tug of war. It was a very difficult 
tree to climb until the branches w'ere reached, the first of 
which was some fourteen feet up, for the trunk w^as too 
large at the bottom to be sw^armed; in fact, neither of 
the boys could reach more than half round it wdth their 
arms. Martin and Tom, both of whom had irons on, 
tried it without success at first ; the fir bark broke away 


BIRDS ’-NESTING 


307 


where they stuck the irons in as soon as they leaned any 
weight on their feet, and the grip of their arms wasn’t 
enough to keep them up ; so, after getting up three or 
four feet, down they came slithering to the ground, 
barking their arms and faces. They were furious, and 
East sat by laughing and shouting at each failure, 
“Two to one on the old magpie!” 

“We must try a pyramid,” said Tom at last. “Now, 
Scud, you lazy rascal, stick yourself against the tree ! ” 

“ I dare say 1 and have you standing on my shoulders 
with the irons on; what do you think my skin’s made 
of.P” However, up he got, and leaned against the tree, 
putting his head down and clasping it with his arms as 
far as he could. “Now then, Madman,” said Tom, 
“you next.” 

“No, I’m lighter than you; you go next.” So Tom 
got on East’s shoulders, and grasped the tree above, and 
then Martin scrambled up on to Tom’s shoulders, amidst 
the totterings and groanings of the pyramid, and, wltli 
a spring which sent his supporters howling to the ground, 
clasped the stem some ten feet up, and remained clinging. 
For a moment or two they thought he couldn’t get up, 
hut then, holding on with anus and teeth, he worked first 
one iron, then the other firmly into the bark, got another 
grip with his arms, and in another minute had hold of 
the lowest branch. 

“ All up with the old magpie now,” said East ; and, 
after a minute’s rcvst, up went Martin, hand over hand, 
watched by Arthur with fearful eagerness. 

“Isn’t it very dangerous.^” said he. 

“Not a bit,” answered Tom; “you can’t hurt if you 
only get good hand-hold. Try every branch with a good 
pull before you trust it, and then up you go.” 

Martin was now amongst the small branches close to 
the nest, and away dashed the old bird, and soared up 
above the trees, watching the intruder. 


308 


BlllBS ’-NESTING 


“All right — four eggs!” shouted he. 

“ Take ’em all 1 ” shouted East ; “ that’ll be one 

apiece.” 

“ No, no ! leave one, and then she won’t care,” said 
Tom. 

We boys had an idea that birds couldn’t count, and 
were quite content as long as you left one egg. I hope 
it is so. 

Martin carefully put one egg into each of his boxes 
and the third into his mouth, the only other place of 
safety, and came down like a lamplighter. All went well 
till he was within ten feet of the ground, when, as the 
trunk enlarged, his hold got less and less firm, and at 
last down he came with a run, tumbling on to his back 
on the turf, spluttering and spitting out the remains of 
the great egg, which had broken by the jar of his fall. 

“Ugh, ugh! something to drink — ugh! it was 
addled,” spluttered he, while the wood rang again with 
the merry laughter of East and Tom. 

Then they examined the prizes, gathered up their 
things, and went off to the brook, where Martin swal- 
lowed huge draughts of water to get rid of the taste; 
and they visited the sedge-bird’s nest, and from thence 
struck across the country in high glee, beating the hedges 
and brakes as they went along; and Arthur at last, to 
his intense delight, was allowed to climb a small hedge- 
row oak for a magpie’s nest with Tom, who kept all 
round him like a mother, and showed him where to hold 
and how to throw his weight; and though he was in a 
great fright, didn’t show it; and was applauded by all 
for his lissomness. 

They crossed a road soon afterwards, and there close 
to them lay a heap of charming pebbles. 

“ Look here,” shouted East, “ here’s luck ! I’ve been 
longing for some good honest pecking this half-hour. 


PECKING 


309 


Let’s fill the bags, and have no more of this foozling 
birds’-nesting.” 

No one objected, so each boy filled the fustian bag he 
carried full of stones: they crossed into the next field, 
Tom and East taking one side of the hedges, and the 
other two the other side. Noise enough they made cer- 
tainly, but it was too early in the season for the young 
birds, and the old birds were too strong on the wing for 
our young marksmen, and flew out of shot after the 
first discharge. But it was great fun, rushing along the 
hedgerows, and discharging stone after stone at black- 
birds and chaffinches, though no result in the shape of 
slaughtered birds was obtained ; and Arthur soon entered 
into it, and rushed to head back the birds, and shouted, 
and threw, and tumbled into ditches and over and through 
hedges, as wild as the Madman himself. 

Presently the party, in full cry after an old blackbird, 
(who was evidently used to the thing and enjoyed the 
fun, for he would wait till they came close to him and 
then fly on for forty yards or so, and, with an impudent 
flicker of his tail, dart into the depths of the quickset,) 
came beating down a high double hedge, two on each 
side. 

“ There he is again,” “ Head him,” “ Let drive,” “ I 
had him there,” “‘Take care where you’re throwing. 
Madman,” the shouts m.ight have been heard a quarter 
of a mile off. They were heard some two hundred yards 
off by a farmer and two of his shepherds, who were 
doctoring sheep in a fold in the next field. 

Now^, the farmer in question rented a house and yard 
situate at the end of the field in which the young hird- 
fanciers had arrived, which house and yard he didn’t 
occupy or keep any one else in. Nevertheless, like a 
brainless and unreasoning Briton, he persisted in main- 
taining on the premises a large stock of cocks, hens. 


310 


THE TEOUBLESOME DUCK 


and other poultry. Of course, all sorts of depredators 
visited the place from time to time: foxes and gypsies 
wrought havoc in the night; while in the daytime, I 
regret to have to confess that visits from the Rugby 
boys, and consequent disappearances of ancient and 
respectable fowls, were not unfrequent. Tom and East 
had during the period of their outlawry visited the barn 
in question for felonious purposes, and on one occasion 
had conquered and slain a duck there, and borne aw'ay 
the carcass triumphantly, hidden in their handkerchiefs. 
However, they were sickened of the practice by the 
trouble and anxiety which the wretched duck’s body 
caused them. They carried it to Sally Harrow-ell’s, in 
hopes of a good supper; but she, after examining it, 
made a long face, and refused to dress or have anything 
to do with it. Then they took it into their study, and 
began plucking it themselves; but what to do with the 
feathers, w^here to hide them.? 

“ Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duck 
has ! ” groaned East, holding a bag full in his hand, and 
looking disconsolately at the carcass, not yet half 
plucked. 

“ And I do think he’s getting high, too, already,” said 
Tom, smelling at him cautiously, “ so we must finish 
him up soon.” 

‘‘Yes, all very well, but how^ are we to cook him.? I’m 
sure I ain’t going to try it on in the hall or passages ; 
we can’t afford to be roasting ducks about, our char- 
acter’s too bad.” 

“ I w ish w e w ere rid of the brute,” said Tom, throw - 
ing him on the table in disgust. And after a day or 
tw'o more it became clear that got rid of he must be ; so 
they packed him and sealed him up in brown paper, and 
put him in the cupboard of an unoccupied study, where 
he was found in the holidays by the matron, a grewsome 
body. 


A SUDDEN FLIGHT 


311 


They had never been duck-hunting there since, but 
others had, and the bold yeoman was very sore on the 
subject, and bent on making an example of the first boys 
he could catch. So he and his shepherds crouched behind 
the hurdles, and watched the party who were approach- 
ing all unconscious. 

Wh}^ should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in the 
hedge just at this particular moment of all the year? 
Who can say? Guinea-fowls always are — so are all 
other things, animals, and persons, requisite for getting 
one into scrapes, always ready when any mischief can 
come of them. At any rate, just under East’s nose 
popped out the old guinea-hen, scuttling along and 
shrieking “Come back, come back,” at the top of her 
voice. Either of the other three might perhaps have 
withstood the temptation, but East first lets drive the 
stone he has in his hand at her, and then rushes to turn 
her into the hedge again. He succeeds, and then they 
are all at it for dear life, up and down the hedge in full 
cry, the “ Come back, come back,” getting shriller and 
fainter every minute. 

Meantime, the farmer and his men steal over the 
hurdles and creep down the hedge toward the scene of 
action. They are almost within a stone’s throw of Mar- 
tin, who is pressing the unlucky chase hard, when Tom 
catches sight of them, and sings out, “ Louts, ’wa^e louts, 
your side! Madman, look ahead!” and then catching 
hold of Arthur, hurries him away across the field toward 
Rugby as hard as they can tear. Had he been by him- 
self he would have stayed to see it out with the others, 
but now his heart sinks and all his pluck goes. The idea 
of being led up to the Doctor with Arthur for bagging 
fowls quite unmans and takes half the run out of him. 

However, no boys are more able to take care of them- 
selves than East and Martin; they dodge the pursuers, 


312 


BUNNING FOE A CONVOY 


slip through a gap, and come pelting after Tom and 
Arthur, whom they catch up in no time ; the farmer and 
his men are making good running about a field behind. 
Tom wishes to himself that they had made off in any 
other direction, butNiow they are all in for it together, 
and must see it out. “You won’t leave the young un, 
will you.?” says he, as they haul poor little Arthur, 
already losing wind from the fright, through the next 
hedge. “ Not we,” is the answer from both. The next 
hedge is a stiff one; the pursuers gain horribly on them, 
and they only just pull Arthur through, with two great 
rents in his trousers, as the foremost shepherd comes up 
on the other side. As they start into the next field, they 
are aware of two figures walking down the footpath in 
the middle of it, and recognize Holmes and Diggs tak- 
ing a constitutional. Those good-natured fellows imme- 
diately shout “ On.” “ Let’s go to them and surrender,” 
pants Tom. — Agreed. — And in another minute the four 
boys, to the great astonishment of those worthies, rush 
breathless up to Holmes and Diggs, who pull up to see 
what is the matter; and then the whole is explained by 
the appearance of the farmer and his men, who unite 
their forces and bear down on the knot of boys. 

There is no time to explain, and Tom’s heart beats 
frightfully quick as he ponders. “Will they stand 
by us .? ” 

The farmer makes a rush at East and collars him; 
and that young gentleman, with unusual discretion, 
instead of kicking his shins, looks appealingly at Holmes, 
and stands still. 

“Hullo there, not so fast,” sa3^s Holmes, who is bound 
to stand up for them till they^ are proved in the wrong. 
“Now wLat’s all this about.?” 

“ I’ve got the young varmint at last, have I ! ” pants 
the farmer; “why, they’ve been a-skulking about my 


A DEBATE 


313 


yard and stealing my fowls, that’s where ’tis ; and if I 
doan’t have they flogged for it, every one on ’em, mv 
name ain’t Thompson.” 

Holmes looks grave, and Diggs’ face falls. They are 
quite ready to fight, no boys in the school more so ; but 
they are prfepostors, and understand their office, and 
can’t uphold unrighteous causes. 

“I haven’t been near his old barn this half,” cries 
East. “Nor I,” “nor I,” chime in Tom and Martin. 

“Now, Willum, didn’t you see ’em there last week.^” 

“ Ees, I seen ’em sure enough,” says Willum, grasp- 
ing a prong he carried, and preparing for action. 

Tlie boys deny stoutly, and Willum is driven to admit 
that “if it worn’t they ’twas chaps as like ’em as two 
peas’n” ; and “ leastways he’ll swear he see’d them two in 
the yard last Martinmas,” indicating East and Tom. 

Holmes has had time to meditate. “ Now, sir,” says 
he to Willum, “you see you can’t remember what you 
have seen, and I believe the boys.” 

“I doan’t care,” blusters the farmer; “they was arter 
my fowds today, that’s enough for I. Willum, you 
catch hold o’ t’other chap. They’ve been a-sneaking 
about this two hours, I tells’ee,” shouted he, as Holmes 
stands between Martin and Willum, “ and have druv a 
matter of a dozen young pullets pi^etty nigh to death.” 

“ Oh, there’s a whacker ! ” exclaimed East ; “ we haven’t 
been within a hundred yards of his bam ; we haven’t been 
up here above ten minutes, and we’ve seen nothing but 
a tough old guinea-hen, who ran, like a greyhound.” 

“Indeed, that’s all true. Holmes, upon my honor,” 
added Tom; “we weren’t after his fowls; guinea-hen 
ran out of the hedge under our feet, and we’ve seen noth- 
ing else.” 

“Drat their talk. Thee catch hold o’ t’other, Willum, 
and come along wi’ un.” 


314 


A DEBATE 


“ Farmer Thompson,” said Holmes, warning off 
Willum and the prong with his stick, while Diggs faced 
the other shepherd, cracking Ins fingers like pistol sliots, 
‘‘ now listen to reason — the boys haven’t been after your 
fowls, that’s plain.” 

‘^Tells’ee I see’d ’em. Who be you, I should like to 
know? ” 

“ Never you mind. Farmer,” answered Holmes. “ And 
now I’ll just tell you what it is — you ought to be 
ashamed of yourself for leaving all that poultry about, 
with no one to watch it, so near the school. You deserve 
to have it all stolen. So if you choose to come up to 
the Doctor with them, I shall go with you and tell him 
what I think of it.” 

The farmer began to take Holmes for a master; 
besides, he wanted to get back to his flock. Corporal 
punishment was out of the question, the odds were too 
great; so he began to hint at paying for the damages. 
Arthur jumped at this, offering to pay anything, and 
the farmer immediately valued the guinea-hen at half a 
sovereign. 

“Half a sovereign!” cried East, now released from 
tlie farmer’s grip; “well, that is a good one! the old 
hen ain’t huH a bit, and she’s seven years old, I know, 
and as tough as whipcord ; she couldn’t lay another egg 
to save her life.” 

It was at last settled that they should pay the farmer 
two shillings, and his man one shilling, and so the matter 
ended, to the unspeakable relief of Tom, who hadn’t 
been able to say a word, being sick at heart at the idea 
of what the Doctor would think of him; and now the 
whole party of boys marclied off down the footpath 
toward Rugby. Holmes, who was one of the best boys 
in the school, began to improve the occasion. “Now, 
you youngsters,” said he, as he marched along in the 


LECTUBE ON SCHOOL LARCENY 


315 


middle of them, “ mind this ; you’re very well out of this 
scrape. Don’t you go near Thompson’s barn again, do 
you hear.?” 

Profuse promises from all, especially East. 

“ Mind, I don’t ask questions,” went on Mentor, “ but 
I rather think some of you have been there before this 
after his chickens. Now, knocking over other people’s 
chickens, and running off with them, is stealing. It’s 
a nasty word, but that’s the plain English of it. If the 
chickens were dead and Eung in a shop, you wouldn’t 
take them, I know that, any more tlian you would apples 
out of Griffith’s basket ; but there’s no real difference 
between chickens running about and apples on a tree, 
and the same articles in a shop. I wish our morals were 
sounder in such matters. There’s nothing so mischievous 
as these school distinctions, which jumble up right and 
wrong, and justify things in us for which poor hoys 
would be sent to prison.” And good old Holmes deliv- 
ered his soul on the walk home of many wise sayings, 
and, as the song says, — 

Gee’d ’em a sight of good advice, — 

which same sermon sank into them all more or less, and 
very penitent they were for several hours. But truth 
compels me to admit that East at any rate forgot it all 
in a week, but remembered the insult which had been put 
upon him by Farmer Thompson, and with the Tadpole 
and other hair-brained youngsters committed a raid on 
the barn soon afterwards, in which they were caught by 
the shepherds and severely handled, besides .having to 
pay eight shillings, all the money they had in the world, 
to escape being taken up to the Doctor. 

Martin became a constant inmate in the joint study 
from this time, and Arthur took to him so kindly that 
Tom couldn’t resist slight fits of jealousy, which, how- 


316 


ABTHUli SEALS HIS FBIENDSHIF 


ever, he managed to keep to himself. The kestrel’s eggs 
had not been broken, strange to say, and formed the 
nucleus of Arthur’s collection, at which Martin worked 
heart and soul; and introduced Arthur to Howlett the 
bird-fancier, and instructed him in the rudiments of the 
art of stuffing. In token of his gratitude, Arthur allowed 
Martin to tattoo a small anchor on one of his wrists, 
which decoration, however, he carefully concealed from 
Tom. Before the end of the half-year he had trained 
into a bold climber and good runner, and, as Martin had 
foretold, knew twice as much about trees, birds, flowers, 
and many other things, as our good-hearted and face- 
tious young friend Harry East. 


CHAPTER V 


THE FIGHT 

Surgebat Macnevisius 
Et mox jactabat ultro, 

Pugnabo tua gratia 
Feroci hoc Mactwoltro. 

Etonian. 

There is a certain sort of fellow, we who are used 
to studying boys all know him well enough, of whom 
you can predicate with almost positive certainty, after 
he has been a month at school, that he is sure to have 
a fight, and with almost equal certainty that he will have 
but one. Tom Brown was one of these; and as it is our 
well-weighed intention to give a full, true, and correct 
account of Tom’s only single combat with a school-fellow 
in the manner of our old friend Bell’s Life, let those 
young persons whose stomachs are not strong, or who 
think a good set-to with the weapons which God has 
given us all an uncivilized, unchristian, or ungentle- 
, manly affair, just skip this chapter at once, for it won’t 
be to their taste. 

It was not at all usual in those daj^s for two School- 
house boys to have a fight. Of course there were excep- 
tions, when some cross-grained, hard-headed fellow came 
up, who would never be happy unless he was quarreling 
with his nearest neighbors, or when there was some class 
dispute, between the fifth form and the fags, for instance, 
which required blood-letting ; and a champion was picked 
out on each side tacitly, who settled the matter by a good 

317 


318 


FIGHTING IN GENERAL 


hearty mill. But for the most part, the constant use of 
those surest keepers of the peace, the boxing-gloves, 
kept the School-house boys from fighting one another. 
Two or three nights in every week the gloves were 
brought out, either in the hall or fifth-form room ; and 
every boy who was ever likely to fight at all knew all his 
neighbors’ prowess perfectly well, and could tell to a 
nicety what chance he would have in a stand-up fight 
with any other boy in the house. But of course nO' such 
experience could be gotten as regarded boys in other 
houses; and as most of the other houses were more or 
less jealous of the School-house, collisions were frequent. 

After all, what would life be without fighting, I should 
like to know.? From the cradle to the grave, fighting, 
rightly understood, is the business, the real, highest, 
honestest business of every son of man. Every one who 
is worth his salt has his enemies, who must be beaten, 
be they evil thoughts and habits in himself or spiritual 
w ickedness in high places, or Russians, or Border-ruffians, 
or Bill, Tom, or Harry, who will not let him live his life 
in (juiet till he has thrashed them. 

It is no good for Quakers, or any other body of men, 
to uplift their voices against fighting. Human nature 
is too strong for them, and they don’t follow their own 
precepts. Every soul of them is doing his own piece of 
fighting, somehow^ and somewhere. The world might 
bo a better world without fighting, for anything I know, 
but it wouldn’t be our wmrld ; and therefore I am dead 
against crying peace wdien there is no pe^e, and isn’t 
meant to be. I am as sorry as any man to see folk fight- 
ing the wrong people and the wrong things, but I’d a 
deal sooner see them doing that than that they should 
have no fight in them. So having recorded, and being 
about to record, my hero’s fights of all sorts, wuth all 
H)rts of enemies, I shall now proceed to give an account 


HOW THE FIGHT AEOSE 


319 


of his passage-at-arms with the onl}^ one of his school- 
fellows whom he ever had to encounter in this manner. 

It was drawing toward the close of Arthur’s first 
half-year, and the May evenings were lengthening out. 
Locking-up was not till eight o’clock, and everybody was 
beginning to talk about what he would do in the holi- 
days. The shell, in which form all our dramatis personce 
now are, w'ere reading amongst other things the last book 
of Homer’s Iliads and had worked through it as far as 
the speeches of the women over Hector’s body. It is a 
whole school-day, and four or five of the School-house 
boys (amongst whom are Arthur, Tom, and East) are 
preparing third lesson together. They have finished the 
regulation forty lines, and are for the most part getting- 
very tired, notwithstanding tlie exquisite pathos of 
Helen’s lamentation. And now several long four-syl- 
labled words come together, and the boy with the dic- 
tionary strikes w'ork. 

“I am not going to look out any more words,” says 
he ; “ we’ve done the quantity. Ten to one we shan’t 
get so far. Let’s go out into the close.” 

“Come along, boys,” cries East, always ready to 
leave the grind, as he called it; “our old coach is laid 
up, you know, and we shall have one of the new masters, 
who’s sure to go slow and let us dowm easy.” 

So an adjournment to the close was carried nem. con., 
little Arthur not daring to uplift his voice ; but, being 
deeply interested in what they were reading, stayed 
quietly behind, and learned on for his own pleasure. 

As East had said, the regular master of the form was 
unwell, and they were to be heard by one of the new' 
masters, quite a young man, who had only just left the 
University. Certainly it would be hard lines, if, by 
daw'dling as much as possible in coming in and taking 
their places, entering into long-winded explanations of 


320 


ROW THE FIGHT AEOSE 


what was the usual course of the regular master of the 
form, and others of the stock contrivances of boys for 
wasting time in school, they could not spin out the lesson 
so that he should not work them through more than the 
forty lines; as to which quantity there was a perpetual 
fight going on between the master and his form, the lat- 
ter insisting, and enforcing by passive resistance, that it 
was the prescribed quantity of Homer for a shell lesson, 
the former that there was no fixed quantity, but that 
they must always be ready to go on to fifty or sixty lines 
if there were time within the hour. However, notwith- 
standing all their efforts, the new^ master got on horribly 
quick ; he seemed to have the bad taste to be really inter- 
ested in the lesson, and to be trying to work them up into 
something like appreciation of it, giving them good 
spirited English words instead of the wretched bald stuff 
into which they rendered poor old Homer, and constru- 
ing over each piece himself to them, after each boy, to 
show" them how it should be done. 

Now" the clock strikes the three quarters; there is only 
a quarter of an hour more; but the forty lines are all 
but done. So the boys, one after another, who are called 
up, stick more and more, and make balder and ever more 
bald work of it. The poor young master is pretty near 
beat by this time, and feels ready to knock his head 
against the wall, or his fingers against somebody else’s 
head. So he gives up altogether the low"er and middle 
parts of the form, and looks round in despair at the 
boys on the top bench, to see if t\iere is one out of wEom 
he can strike a spark or tw o, and who will be too chival- 
rous to murder the most beautiful utterances of the most 
beautiful wmman of the old world. His eye rests on 
Arthur, and he calls him up to finish construing Helen’s 
speech. Whereupon all the other boys draw long 
breaths, and begin to stare about and take it easy. They 


EOW THE FIGHT AROSE 


321 


are all safe ; Arthur is the head of the form, and sure 
to be able to construe, and that will tide on safely till the 
hour strikes. 

Arthur proceeds to read out the passage in Greek 
before construing it, as the custom is. Tom, who isn’t 
paying much attention, is suddenly caught by the falter 
in his voice as he reads the two lines: — 

dAA.a crv tov y’ iireea-CTL irapai^a/xevos KaripvKes, 

^rj t’ dyavocf>po(Tvvy Kal (tols dyavots CTrcetrcriv. 

He looks up at Arthur. “ Why, bless us,” thinks he, 
“what can be the matter with the young un.?^ He’s never 
going to get floored. He’s sure to have learnt to the 
end.” Next moment he is reassured by the spirited tone 
in which Arthur begins construing, and betakes himself 
to drawing dogs’ heads in his note-book, while the mas- 
ter, evidently enjoying the change, turns his back on the 
middle bench and stands before Arthur, beating a sort of 
time with his hand and foot, and saying, “Yes, yes,” 
very well,” as Arthur goes on. 

But as he nears the fatal two lines Tom catches that 
falter and again looks up. He sees that there is some- 
thing the matter, Arthur can hardly get on at all. What 
can it be? 

Suddenly at this point Arthur breaks down altogether, 
and fairly bursts out crying, and dashes the cuff* of his 
jacket across his eyes, blushing up to the roots of his 
hair, and feeling as if he should like to go down sud- 
denly through the floor. The w^hole form are taken 
aback ; most of them stare stupidly at him, w^hile those 
who are gifted with presence of mind find their places 
and look steadily at their books, in hopes of not catch- 
ing the master’s eye and getting called up in Arthur’s 
place. 

The master looks puzzled for a moment, and then 


322 


ROW THE FIGHT AROSE 


seeing*, as the fact is, that the boj is really aff'ected to 
tears by the most touching thing in Homer, perhaps in 
all profane poetry put together, steps up to him and 
lays his hand kindly on his shoulder, saying, “ Never 
mind, my little man, you’ve construed very well. Stop 
a minute, there’s no hurry.” 

Now, as luck would have it, there sat next above Tom 
on that day, in the middle bench of the form, a big boy, 
by name Williams, generally supposed to be the cock 
of the shell, therefore of all the school below the fifths. 
The small boys, who are great speculators on the prowess 
of their elders, used to hold forth to one another about 
Williams’s great strength, and to discuss whether East 
or Brown would take a licking from him. He was called 
Slogger Williams, from the force with which it was sup- 
posed he could hit. In the main, he was a rough, good- 
natured fellow enough, but very much alive to his own 
dignity. He reckoned himself the king of the form, 
and kept up his position with the strong hand, especially 
in the matter of forcing boys not to construe more than 
the legitimate forty lines. He had already grunted and 
grumbled to himself when Arthur went on reading 
beyond the forty lines. But now that he had broken 
down just in the middle of all the long words, the Slog- 
ger’s wrath was fairly roused. 

“ Sneaking little brute,” muttered he, regardless of 
prudence, “clapping on the waterworks just in the hard- 
est place; see if I don’t punch his head after fourth 
lesson.” 

“Whose.?” said Tom, to whom the remark seemed to 
be addressed. 

“Why, that little sneak Arthur’s,” replied Williams. 

“ No, you shan’t,” said Tom. 

“ Hullo ! ” exclaimed Williams, looking at Tom with 
great surprise for a moment, and then giving him a sud- 


HOW THE FIGHT ABOSE 


323 


den dig in the ribs with his elbow, which sent Tom’s books 
flying on to the. floor, and called the attention of the 
master, who turned suddenly round, and, seeing the state 
of things, said: — 

‘‘ Williams, go down three places, and then go on.” 

1 he Slogger found his legs very slowly, and proceeded 
to go below Tom and two other boys wjth great disgust, 
and then, turning round and facing the master, said, “ I 
haven’t learnt any more, sir ; our lesson is only forty 
lines.” r ‘ 

“ Is that so ” said the master, appealing generally to 
the top bench. No answer. 

W^ho is the head boy of the form.^” said he, waxino* 
wroth. 

“Arthur, sir,” answered three or four boys, indicat- 
ing our friend. 

“Oh, your name’s Arthur. Well, now, what is the 
length of your regular lesson .P” 

Arthur hesitated a moment, and then said, “We call 
it only forty lines, sir.” 

“How do you mean, you call it.?” 

“Well, sir, Mr. Graham says we ain’t to stop there 
when there’s time to construe more.” 

“ I understand,” said the master. “ Williams, go down 
three more places, and write me out the lesson in Greek 
and English. And now, Arthur, finish construing.” 

“ Oh ! would I be in Arthur’s shoes after fourth les- 
son.?” said the little boys to one another; but Arthur 
finished Helen’s speech without any further catastrophe, 
and the clock struck four, which ended third lesson. 

Another hour was occupied in preparing and saying 
fourth lesson, during which Williams was bottling up 
his wrath ; and when five struck, and the lessons for the 
day were over, he prepared to take summary vengeance 
on the innocent cause of his misfortune. 


324 


THE CHALLENGE 


Tom was detained in school a few minutes after the 
rest, and on coming out into the quadrangle, the first 
thing he saw was a small ring of boys, applauding Wil- 
liams, who was holding Arthur by the collar. 

“ There, you young sneak,” said he, giving Arthur a 
cuff on the head with his other hand, “what made 3^ou 
say that ” — 

“ Hullo ! ” said Tom, shouldering into the crowd, “ you 
drop that, Williams; you shan’t touch him.” 

“Who’ll stop me.P” said the Slogger, raising his hand 
again. 

“ I,” said Tom ; and, suiting the action to the word, 
struck the arm which held Arthur’s arm so sharply that 
the Slogger dropped it with a start, and turned the full 
current of his w^ath on Tom. 

“Will you fight?” 

“ Yes, of course.” 

“ Huzza, there’s going to be a fight between Slogger 
Williams and Tom Brown!” 

The news ran like wildfire about, and many boys who 
were on their way to tea at their several houses turned 
back, and sought the back of the chapel, w^here the fights 
come off. 

“ Just run and tell East to come and back me,” said 
Tom to a small School-house boy, who was off like a 
rocket to Harrowell’s, just stopping for a moment to 
poke his head into the School-house hall, wEere the low’er 
hoys were already at tea, and sing out, “ Fight ! Tom 
Browm and Slogger Williams.” 

Up start half the boys at once, leaving bread, eggs, 
butter, sprats, and all the rest to take care of themselves. 
The greater part of the remainder follow' in a minute, 
after sw'allowdng their tea, carrying their food in their 
hands to consume as they go. Three or four onlv 
remain, who steM the butter of the more impetuous, and 
make to themselves an unctuous feast. 


TEE PEELING 


325 


In another minute East and Martin tear. through the 
quadrangle, carrying a sponge, and arrive at the scene 
of action just as the combatants are beginning to strip. 

Tom felt he had got his work cut out for him, as he 
stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, and braces. East tied 
his handkerchief round his waist, and rolled up his shirt- 
sleeves for him : Now, old boy, don’t you open your 

mouth to say a word, or try to help yourself a bit, we’ll 
do all that; you keep all your breath and strength for 
the Slogger.” Martin meanwhile folded the clothes, and 
put them under the chapel rails ; and now Tom, with East 
to handle him and Martin to give him a knee, steps out 
on the turf, and is ready for all that may come: and here 
is the Slogger too, all stripped, and thirsting for the 
fray. 

It doesn’t look a fair match at first glance: Williams 
is nearly two inches taller, and probably a long year 
older than his opponent, and he is very strongly made 
about the arms and shoulders ; “ peels well,” as the little 
knot of big fifth-form boys, the amateurs, say; who 
stand outside the ring of little boys, looking compla- 
cently on, but taking no active part in the proceedings. 
But down below he is not so good by any means; no 
spring from the loins, and feebleish, not to say ship- 
wrecky, about the knees. Tom, on the contrary, though 
not half so strong in the arms, is good all over, straight, 
hard, and springy, from neck to ankle, better, perhaps, 
in his legs than anywhere. Besides, you can see by the 
clear white of his eye and fresh bright look of his skin 
that he is in tip-top training, able to do all he knows; 
while the Slogger looks rather sodden, as if he didn’t 
take much exercise and ate too much tuck. The time- 
keeper is chosen, a large ring made, and the two stand 
up opposite one another for a moment, giving us time 
just to make our little observations. 


326 


EARLY BOUNDS 


“ If Tom’ll only condescend to fight with his head and 
heels,” as East mutters to Martin, “ we shall do.” 

But seemingly he won’t, for there he goes in, making 
play with both hands. “ Hard all ” is the word ; the two 
stand to one another like men; rally follows rally in 
quick succession, each fighting as if he thought to finish 
the whole thing out of hand. “ Can’t last at this rate,” 
say the knowing ones, while the partisans of each make 
the air ring with their shouts and counter-shouts of 
encouragement, approval, and defiance. 

“ Take it easy, take it easy — keep away, let him come 
after you,” implores East, as he wipes Tom’s face after 
the first round with wet sponge, while he sits back on 
Martin’s knee, supported by the Madman’s long arms, 
which tremble a little from excitement. 

“ Time’s up,” calls the timekeeper. 

“ There he goes again, hang it all ! ” growls East, as 
his man is at it again as hard as ever. A very severe 
round follows, in which Tom gets out and out the worst 
of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, and deposited 
on the grass by a right-hander from the Slogger. 

Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger’s house, 
and the School-house are silent and vicious, ready to pick 
quarrels anywhere. 

“ Two to one in half-crowns on the big un,” says Rat- 
tle, one of the amateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder-and- 
lightning waistcoat, and puffy good-natured face. 

“Done!” says Groove, another amateur of quieter 
look, taking out his note-book to enter it, for our friend 
Rattle sometimes forgets these little things. 

Meantime, East is freshening up Tom with the sponges 
for next round, and has set two other boys to rub his 
hands. 

“Tom, old boy,” whispers he, “this may be fun for 
you, but it’s death to me. He’ll hit all the fight out of 


HEAD FIGHTING 


327 


you in another five minutes, and then I shall go and drown 
myself in the island ditch. Feint him — use your legs! 
draw him about ! he’ll lose his wind then in no time, and 
you can go into him. Hit at his body, too; we’ll take 
care of his frontispiece by and by.” 

Tom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw already 
that he couldn’t go in and finish the Slogger off at mere 
hammer and tongs, so changed his tactics completely in 
the third round. He now fights cautious, getting away 
from and parrying the Slogger’s lunging hits, instead 
of trying to counter, and leading his enemy a dance all 
round the ring after him. “He’s funking; go in, Wil- 
liams,” “ Catch him up,” “ Finish him off,” scream the 
small boys of the Slogger party. 

“Just what we want,” thinks East, chuckling to him- 
self as he sees Williams, excited by these shouts, and 
thinking the game in his own hands, blowing himself in 
his exertions to get to close quarters again, while Tom 
is keeping away with perfect ease. 

They quarter over the ground again and again, Tom 
alwa^^s on the defensive. 

The Slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly 
blown. 

“ Now, then, Tom,” sings out East, dancing with 
delight. Tom goes in in a twinkling, and hits two heavy 
body blows, and gets away again before the Slogger 
can catch his wind; which, when he does, he rushes with 
blind fury at Tom, and, being skillfully parried and 
avoided, overreaches himself and falls on his face, amidst 
terrific cheers from the School-house boys. 

“ Double your two to one ? ” says Groove to Rattle, 
note-book in hand. 

“ Stop a bit,” says that hero, looking uncomfortably 
at Williams, who is puffing away on his second’s knee, 
winded enough, but little the worse in any other way. 


328 


STEADY ALL 


After another round the Slogger, too, seems to see 
that he can’t go in and win right off, and has met his 
match or thereabouts. So he, too, begins to use his head, 
and tries to make Tom lose patience, and come in before 
his time. And so the fight sways on, now one, and now 
the other getting a trifling pull. 

Tom’s face begins to look very one-sided — there are 
little queer bumps on his forehead, and his mouth is 
bleeding ; but East keeps the wet sponge going so scien- 
tifically, that he comes up looking as fresh and bright as 
ever. Williams is only slightly marked in the face, but 
by the nervous movement of his elbows you can see that 
Tom’s body blows are telling. In fact, half the vice of 
the Slogger’s hitting is neutralized, for he daren’t lunge 
out freely for fear of exposing his sides. It is too inter- 
esting by this time for much shouting, and the whole 
ring is very quiet. 

“ All right. Tommy,” whispers East ; “ hold on ’s the 
horse that’s to win. We’ve got the last. Keep your 
head, old boy.” 

But where is Arthur all this time.? Words cannot 
paint the poor little fellow’s distress. He couldn’t mus- 
ter courage to come up to the ring, but wandered up and 
down from the great fives’ court to the corner of the 
chapel rails: now trying to make up his mind to throw 
himself between them, and try to stop them; then think- 
ing of running in and telling his friend Mary, who he 
knew would instantly report to the Doctor. The stories 
he had heard of men being killed in prize-fights rose up 
liorribly before him. 

Once only, when the shouts of “Well done. Brown!” 
“ Huzza for the School-house!” rose higher than ever, he 
ventured up to the ring, thinking the victory was won. 
Catching sight of Tom’s face in the state I have 
described, all fear of consequences vanishing out of his 


TBE EING BEOKEN 


329 


mind, he rushed straight off to the matron’s room, 
beseeching her to get the fight stopped, or he should die. 

But it’s time for us to get back to the close. What 
is this fierce tumult and confusion.^ The ring is broken, 
and high and angry words are being bandied about : 
“It’s all fair” — “It isn’t” — “No hugging;” the fight 
is stopped. The combatants, however, sit there quietly, 
tended by their seconds, while their adherents wrangle 
in the middle. East can’t help shouting challenges to 
two or three of the other side, though he never leaves 
Tom for a moment, and plies the sponges as fast as ever. 

The fact is, that at the end of the last round, Tom, 
seeing a good opening, had closed with his opponent, 
and after a moment’s struggle had thrown him heavih% 
by help of the fall he had learned from his village rival 
in the Vale of White Horse. Williams hadn’t the ghost 
of a chance with Tom at wrestling; and the conviction 
broke at once on the Slogger faction that if this were 
allowed their man must be licked. There was a strong 
feeling in the school against catching hold and throwing, 
though it was generally ruled all fair within certain 
limits ; so the ring w^as broken and the fight stopped. 

The School-house are overruled — the fight is on 
again, but there is to be no throwing; and East in high 
wrath threatens to take his man away after next round, 
(which he don’t mean to do, by the way,) when suddenly 
voung Brooke comes through the small gate at the end 
of the chapel. The School-house faction rush to him. 
“Oh, hurra! now we shall get fair play.” 

“ Please, Brooke, come up, they won’t let Tom Brown 
throw him.” 

“ Throw whom?” says Brooke, coming up to the ring. 
“ Oh ! Williams, I see. Nonsense ! of course he may throw 
him if he catches him fairly above the waist.” 

Now, young Brooke, you’re in the sixth, you know. 


330 


TEE LAST HOUND 


and you ought to stop all fights. He looks hard at both 
boys. “ Anything wrong ? ” says he to East, nodding 
at Tom. 

“ Not a bit.” 

Not beat at all.^ ” 

“ Bless you, no ! heaps of fight in him. Ain’t there, 
Tom.?” 

Tom looks at Brooke and grins. 

“How’s he.?” nodding at Williams. 

“So, so; rather done, I think, since his last fall. He 
won’t stand above two more.” 

“ Time’s up ! ” the boys rise again and face one 
another. Brooke can’t find it in his heart to stop them 
just yet, so the round goes on, the Slogger waiting for 
Tom, and reserving all his strength to hit him out should 
he come in for the wrestling dodge again, for he feels 
that that must be stopped, or his sponge will soon go 
up in the air. 

And now another newcomer appears on the field, to 
wit, the under-porter, with his long brush and great 
wooden receptacle for dust under his arm. He has been 
sweeping out the schools. 

“You’d better stop, gentlemen,” he says; “the Doc- 
tor knows that Brown’s fighting — he’ll be out in a 
minute.” 

“You go to Bath, Bill,” is all that that excellent 
servitor gets by his advice. And being a man of his 
hands, and a stanch upholder of the School-house, can’t 
help stopping to look on for a bit, and see Tom Brown, 
their pet craftsman, fight a round. 

It is grim earnest now, and no mistake. Both boys 
feel this, and summon every power of head, hand, and 
eye to their aid. A piece of luck on either side, a foot 
slipping, a blow getting well home, or another fall, ma}^ 
decide it. Tom works slowly round for an opening; 


THE DOCTOK ARRIVES 


331 


he has all the legs, and can choose his own time: the 
Slogger waits for the attack, and hopes to finish it by 
some heavy right-handed blow. As they quarter slowly 
over the ground, the evening sun comes out from behind 
a cloud and falls full on Williams’s face. Tom darts in, 
the heavy right-hand is delivered, but only grazes his 
head. A short rally at close quarters, and they close; 
in another moment the Slogger is thrown again heavily 
for the third time. 

“I’ll give you three to two on the little one in half- 
crowns,” said. Groove to Rattle. 

“No, thank’ee,” answers the other, diving his hands 
further into his coat-tails. 

Just at this stage of the proceedings the door of the 
turret which leads to the Doctor’s library suddenly opens, 
and he steps into the close, and makes straight for the 
ring, in which Brown and the Slogger are both seated 
on their seconds’ knees for the last time. 

“ The Doctor ! the Doctor ! ” shouts some small boy 
who catches sight of him, and the ring melts away in a 
few seconds, the small boys tearing off, Tom collaring 
his jacket and waistcoat, and slipping through the little 
gate by the chapel, and round the corner to Harrowell’s 
with his backers, as lively as need be; Williams and his 
backers making off not quite so fast across the close; 
Groove, Rattle, and the other bigger fellows trying to 
combine dignity and prudence in a comical manner, and 
walking off fast enough, they hope, not to be recognized, 
and not fast enough to look like running away. 

Young Brooke alone remains on the ground by the 
time the Doctor gets there, and touches his hat, not with- 
out a slight inward qualm. 

“ Hah ! Brooke. I am surprised to see you here. 
Don’t you know that I expect the sixth to stop fight- 


332 


TEE DOCTOB’S VIEWS 


Brooke felt much more uncomfortable than he had 
expected, but he was rather a favorite with the Doctor 
for his openness and plainness of speech; so blurted out, 
as he walked by the Doctor’s side, who had already 
turned back, — 

“Yes, sir, generally. But I thought you wished us 
to exercise a discretion in the matter too — not to inter- 
fere too soon.” 

“ But they have been fighting this half-hour and 
more,” said the Doctor. 

“Yes, sir; but neither was hurt. And they’re the sort 
of boys who’ll be all the better friends now, which they 
wouldn’t have been if they had been stopped any earlier 
— before it was so equal.” 

“Who was fighting with Brown.?” said the Doctor. 

“Williams, sir, of Thompson’s. He is bigger than 
Brown, and had the best of it at first, but not when you 
came up, sir. There’s a good deal of jealousy between 
our house and Thompson’s, and there would have been 
more fights if this hadn’t been let go on, or if either of 
them had had much the worst of it.” 

“Well, but, Brooke,” said the Doctor, “doesn’t this 
look a little as if you exercised your discretion by only 
stopping a fight when the School-house boy is getting 
the worst of it.? ” 

Brooke, it must be confessed, felt rather gravelled. 

“Now remember,” added the Doctor, as he stopped at 
the turret door, “this fight is not to go on — you’ll see 
to that. And I expect you to stop all fights in future 
at once.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said young Brooke, touching his hat, 
and not sorry to see the turret door close behind the 
Doctor’s back. 

Meantime, Tom and the stanchest of his adherents had 
reached Harrowell’s, and Sally was bustling about to 


EVENING AFTEE THE FIGHT 


33S 


get them a late tea, while Stumps had been sent off to 
Tew the butcher, to get a piece of raw beef for Tom’s 
eye, which was to be healed off-hand, so that he might 
show well in the morning. He was not a bit the worse 
except a slight difficult}^ in his vision, a singing ir his 
ears, and a sprained thumb, which he kept in a cold- 
water bandage, wdiile he drank lots of tea, and listened 
to the babel of voices talking and speculating of noth- 
ing but the fight, and how Williams w^ould have given 
in after another fall, (which he didn’t in the least believe,) 
and how on earth the Doctor could have got to know' 
of it, — such bad luck ! He couldn’t help thinking to 
himself that he w^as glad he hadn’t w on ; he liked it better 
as it was, and felt very friendly to the Slogger. And 
then poor little Arthur crept in and sat down quietly 
near him, and kept looking at him and the raw beef with 
such plaintive looks that Tom at last burst out laughing. 

“ Don’t make such eyes, young un,” said he ; “ there’s 
nothing the matter.” 

“ Oh, but Tom, are you much hurt ? I can’t bear 
thinking it w'as all for me.” 

“Not a bit of it, don’t flatter yourself. We were 
sure to have had if out sooner or later.” 

“ Well, but you w'on’t go on, w'ill you? You’ll promise 
me you w on’t go on ? ” 

“Can’t tell about that — all depends on the houses. 
We’re in the hands of our countrymen, you know. Must 
fight for the School-house flag, if so be.” 

How'ever, the lovers of the science were doomed to dis- 
appointment this time. Directiv after locking-up, one 
of the night fags knocked at Tom’s door. 

“ Brow'n, young Brooke w'ants you in the sixtli-form 
room.” 

Up went Tom to the summons, and found the mag- 
nates sitting at their supper. 


334 


THE SHAKE-HANDS 


“ Well, Brown,” said young Brooke, nodding to him, 
“how do you feel?” 

“*Oh, very well, thank you, only I’ve sprained my 
thumb, I think.” 

“Sure to do that in a fight. Well, you hadn’t the 
worst of it, I could see. Where did you learn that 
throw?” 

“ Down in the country, when I was a boy.” ^ 

“Hullo! why, what are you now? Well, never mind, 
you’re a plucky fellow. Sit down and have some sup- 
per.” 

Tom obeyed, by no means loath. And the fifth-form 
boy next him filled him a tumbler of bottled beer, and 
he ate and drank, listening to the pleasant talk, and 
wondering how soon he should be in the fifth, and one 
of that much-envied society. 

As he got up to leave, Brooke said, “You must shake 
hands tomorrow morning; I shall come and see that 
done after first lesson.” . 

And so he did. And Tom and the Slogger shook 
liands with great satisfaction and mutual respect. And 
for the next year or two, whenever fights were being 
talked of, the small boys who had been present shook 
their heads wisely, saying, “Ah! but you should just 
have seen the fight between Slogger Williams and Tom 
Brown ! ” 

And now, boys all, three words before we quit the sub- 
ject. I have put in this chapter on fighting of malice 
prepense, partly because I want to give you a true pic- 
ture of what everyday school life was in my time, and 
not a kid-glove and go-to-meeting-coat picture ; and 
partly because of the cant and twaddle that’s talked of 
boxing and fighting with fists nowadays. Even Thack- 
eray has given in to it; and only a few weeks ago there 


THE OLD BOY’S EULES 


335 


was some rampant stuff in the Times on the subject, 
in an article on field sports. 

Boys will quarrel, and when they quarrel will some- 
times fight. Fighting with fists is the natural and 
English way for English boys to settle their quarrels. 
What substitute for it is there, or ever was there, amongsi 
any nation under the sun.^ What would you like to see 
take its place.? 

Learn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket and 
football. Not one of you will be the worse, but very 
much the better, for learning to box well. Should you 
never have to use it in earnest, there’s no exercise in the 
world so good for the temper, and for the muscles- of 
the back and legs. 

As to fighting, keep out of it if you can, by all means. 
When the time comes, if it ever should, that you have 
to say “Yes” or “No” to a challenge to fight, say 
“No ” if you can, — only take care you make it clear to 
yourselves why you say “ No.” It’s a proof of the high- 
est courage, if done from true Christian motives. It’s 
quite right and justifiable, if done from a simple aversion 
to physical pain and danger. But don’t say “No” 
because you fear a licking, and say or think it’s because 
you fear God, for that’s neither Christian nor honest. 
And if you do fight, fight it out ; and don’t give in while 
you can stand and see. 


CHAPTER VI 


FEVER IlSr THE SCHOOL 

This our hope for all that’s mortal, 

And we too shall burst the bond; 

Death keeps watch beside the portal, 

But ’tis life that dwells beyond. 

John Sterling. 

Two years have passed since the events recorded in 
the last chapter, and the end of the summer half-year 
is again drawing on. Martin has left and gone on a 
cruise in the South Pacific, in one of his uncle’s ships; 
the old magpie, as disreputable as ever, his last bequest 
to Arthur, lives in the joint study. Arthur is nearly 
sixteen, and at the head of the twenty, having gone up 
the school at the rate of a form a half-year. East and 
Tom have been much more deliberate in their progress, 
and are only a little way up the fifth form. Great strap- 
ping boys they are, but still thorough boys, filling about 
the same place in the house that young Brooke filled 
when they were new boys, and much the same sort of fel- 
lows. Constant intercourse with Arthur has done much 
for both of them, especially for Tom; but much remains 
yet to be done, if they are to get all the good out of 
Rugby which is to be got there in these times. Arthur 
is still frail and delicate, with more spirit than body ; but, 
thanks to his intimacy with them and Martin, has learned 
to swim, and run, and play cricket, and has never hurt 
himself by too much reading. 

One evening, as they were all sitting down to supper 


336 


THE DOCTOR 


337 


in the fifth-form room, some one started a report that 
a fever had broken out at one of the boarding-houses ; 
“ they say,” he added, “ that Thompson is very ill, and 
that Dr. Robertson has been sent for from Northamp- 
ton.” 

“ Then we shall all be sent home,” cried another. 
“Hurra! five weeks’ extra holidays, and no fifth-form 
examination ! ” 

“ I hope not,” said Tom ; “ there’ll be no Marylebone 
match, then, at the end of the half.” 

Some thought one thing, some another, many didn’t 
believe the report ; but the next day, Tuesday, Dr. Rob- 
ertson arrived, and stayed all day, and had long confer- 
ences with the Doctor. 

On Wednesday morning, after prayers, the Doctor 
addressed the whole school. There were several cases of 
fever in different houses, he said; but Dr. Robertson, 
after the most careful examination, had assured him that 
it was not infectious, and that if proper care were taken 
there could be no reason for stopping the school work 
at present. The examinations were just coming on, and 
it would be very unadvisable to break up now. However, 
any boys who chose to do so were at liberty to write 
home, and, if their parents wished it, to leave at once. 
He should send the whole school home if the fever spread. 

The next day Arthur sickened, but there was no other 
case. Before the end of the week thirty or forty boys 
had gone, but the rest stayed on. There was a general 
wish to please the Doctor, and a feeling that it was 
cowardly to run away. 

On the Saturday Thompson died, in the bright after- 
noon, while the cricket-match was going on as usual on 
the big-side ground: the Doctor, coming from his death- 
bed, passed along the gravel-walk at the side of the close, 
but no one knew what had happened till the next day. 


338 


DEATH IN TEE SCHOOL 


At morning lecture it began to be rumored, and by 
afternoon chapel was known generally ; and a feeling 
of seriousness and awe at the actual presence of death 
among them came over the whole school. In all the long 
years of his ministry the Doctor perhaps never spoke 
words which sank deeper than some of those in that day’s 
sermon. “When I came yesterday from visiting all but 
the very death-bed of him who has been taken from us, 
and looked around upon all the familiar objects and 
scenes within our own ground, where your common 
amusements were going on, with your common cheerful- 
ness and activity, I felt there was nothing painful in 
witnessing that ; it did not seem in any way shocking or 
out of tune with those feelings which the sight of a 
dying Christian must be supposed to awaken. The 
unsuitableness in point of natural feeling between scenes 
of mourning and scenes of liveliness did not at all present 
itself. But I did feel that if at that moment any of 
those faults had been brought before me which some- 
times occur amongst us ; had I heard that any of you 
had been guilty of falsehood, or of drunkenness, or of 
any other such sin; had I heard from any quarter the 
language of profaneness, or of unkindness, or of inde- 
cency^ ; had I heard or seen any signs of that wretched 
folly which courts the laugh of fools by affecting not to 
dread evil and not to care for good, then the unsuitable- 
ness of any of these things with the scene I had just 
quitted would indeed have been most intensely painful. 
And why.? Not because such things would really have 
been worse than at any other time, but because at such 
a moment the eyes are opened really to know’ good and 
evil, because we then feel what it is so to live as that 
death becomes an infinite blessing, and what it is so to 
live also that it were good for us if w’e had never been 
bom.” 


DEATH IN THE SCHOOL 


339 


Tom had gone into chapel in sickening anxiety about 
Arthur, but he came out cheered and strengthened by 
those grand words, and walked up alone to their study. 
And when he sat down and looked round, and saw 
Arthur’s straw hat and cricket jacket hanging on their 
pegs, and marked all his little neat arrangements, not 
one of which had been disturbed, the tears indeed rolled 
down his cheeks, but they were calm and blessed tears, 
and he repeated to himself, “Yes, Geordie’s eyes are 
opened — he knows what it is so to live as that death 
becomes an infinite blessing. But do I.'^ O God! can I 
bear to lose him.f^” 

The week passed mournfully away. No more boys 
sickened, but Arthur was reported worse each day, and 
his mother arrived early in the week. Tom made many 
appeals to be allowed to see him, and several times tried 
to get up to the sick-room ; but the housekeeper was 
always in the way, and at last spoke to the Doctor, who 
kindly but peremptorily forbade him. 

Thompson was buried on the Tuesday ; and the burial 
service, so soothing and grand always, but beyond all 
words solemn when read over a boy’s grave to his com- 
panions, brought Tom much comfort and many strange 
new thoughts and longings. He went back to his regu- 
lar life, and played cricket and bathed as usual ; it seemed 
to him that this was the right thing to do, and the new 
thoughts and longings became more brave and healthy 
for the effort. The crisis came on Saturday, the day 
week that Thompson had died; and during that long 
afternoon Tom sat in his study reading his Bible, and 
going every half-hour to the housekeeper’s room, expect- 
ing each time to hear that the gentle and brave little 
spirit had gone home. But God had work for Arthur to 
do : the crisis passed — on Sunday evening he was 
declared out of danger ; on Monday he sent a message to 


340 


DEATH IN THE SCHOOL 


Tom that he was almost well, had changed his room, and 
was to be allowed to see him the next day. 

It was evening when the housekeeper summoned him 
to the sick-room. Arthur was lying on the sofa by the 
open window, through which the rays of the western sun 
stole gently, lighting up his white face and golden hair. 
Tom remembered a German picture of an angel which 
he knew ; often had he thought how transparent and 
golden and spirit-like it was; and he shuddered to think 
how like it Arthur looked, and felt a shock as if his blood 
had all stopped short as he realized how near the other 
world his friend must have been to look like that. Never 
till that moment had he felt how his little chum had 
twined himself round his heart-strings; and as he stole 
gently across the room and knelt down, and put his arm 
round Arthur’s head on the pillow, felt ashamed and half 
angry at his own red and brown face, and the bounding 
sense of health and power which filled every fiber of his 
body and made every movement of mere living a joy to 
him. He needn’t have troubled himself ; it was this very 
strength and power so different from his own which drew 
Arthur so to him. 

Arthur laid his thin white hand, on which the blue 
veins stood out so plainly, on Tom’s great brown fist, 
and smiled at him; and then looked out of the window 
again, as if he couldn’t bear to lose a moment of the 
sunset, into the tops of the great feathery elms, round 
which the rooks were circling and clanging, returning 
in flocks from their evening’s foraging parties. The 
elms rustled, the sparrows in the ivy yust outside the win- 
dow chirped and fluttered about, quarreling, and mak- 
ing it up again; the rooks young and old talked in 
chorus, and the merry shouts of the boys and the sweet 
click of the cricket bats came up cheerily from below. 

“Dear George,” said Tom, “I am so glad to be let 


CONVALESCENCE 


311 


up to see 3’^ou at last. I've tried hard to come so often, 
but they wouldn’t let me before.” 

. Oh, I know, Tom; Mary has told me every dav 
about you, and how she was obliged to make the Doctor 
speak to you to keep you away. I’m very glad you 
didn’t get up, for you might have caught it, and you 
couldn’t stand being ill with all the matches going on. 
And 3^ou’re in the eleven, too, I hear — I’m so glad.” 

“Yes, ain’t it jolly.?” said Tom proudly; “I’m ninth, 
too. I made forty at the last pie-match, and caught 
three fellows out. So I was put in above Jones and 
Tucker. Tucker’s so savage, for he was head of the 
twenty-two.” 

“Well, I think you ought to be higher yet,” said 
Arthur, who was as jealous for the renown of Tom in 
games as Tom was for his as a scholar. 

“ Never mind, I don’t care about cricket or anything 
now you’re getting well, Geordie; and I shouldn’t have 
been hurt, I know, if they’d have let me come up, — 
nothing hurts me. But you’ll get about now directly, 
won’t you.? You won’t believe how clean I’ve kept the 
stud3^ All your things are just as you left them; and 
I feed the old magpie just when you used, though I have 
to come in from big-side for him, the old rip. He won’t 
look pleased all I can do, and sticks his head first on one 
side and then on the other, and blinks at me before he’ll 
begin to eat, till I’m half inclined to box his ears. And 
whenever East comes in, you should see him hop off to 
the window, dot and go one, though Harry wouldn’t 
touch a feather of him now.” 

Arthur laughed. “ Old Gravey has a good memory ; 
he can’t forget the sieges of poor Martin’s den in old 
times.” He paused a moment, and then went on. “You 
can’t think how often I’ve been thinking of old iMartin 
since I've been ill; I suppose one’s mind gets restless. 


342 


MEMORIES 


and likes to wander off to strange unknown places. I 
wonder what queer new pets the old boy has got ; how 
he must be revelling in the thousand new birds, beasts, 
and fishes.” 

Tom felt a pang of jealousy, but kicked it out in a 
moment. “Fancy him on a South-sea island, with the 
Cherokees or Patagonians, or some such wild niggers;” 
Tom’s ethnology and geography were faulty, but suffi- 
cient for his needs; “they’ll make the old Madman cock 
medicine-man and tattoo him all over. Perhaps he’s 
cutting about now all blue, and has a squaw and a wig- 
wam. He’ll improve their boomerangs, and be able to 
throw them, too, without having old Thomas sent after 
him by the Doctor to take them away.” 

Arthur laughed at the remembrance of the boomerang 
story, but then looked grave again, and said, “ He’ll 
convert all the island, I know.” 

“Yes, if he don’t blow it up first.” 

“Do you remember, Tom, how you and East used to 
laugh at him and chaff him because he said he was sure 
the rooks all had calling-over or prayers, or something 
of the sort, when the locking-up bell rang.^ Well, I 
declare,” said Arthur, looking up seriously into Tom’s 
laughing eyes, “ I do think he was right. Since I’ve 
been lying here, I’ve watched them every night; and do 
you know, they really do come, and perch all of them 
just about locking-up time; and then first there’s a 
regular chorus of caws, and then they stop a bit, and 
one old fellow, or perhaps two or three in different trees, 
caw solos, and then off they all go again, fluttering 
about and cawing anyhow till they roost.” 

“ I wonder if the old blackies do talk,” said Tom, 
looking up at them. “How they must abuse me and 
East, and pray for the Doctor for stopping the sling- 
ing.” 


MEMOEIES 


343 


‘‘ There ! look, look ! ” cried Arthur, “ don’t you see 
the old fellow without a tail coming up? Martin used 
to call him the ‘clerk.’ He can’t steer himself. You 
never saw such fun as he is in a high wind, when he can’t 
steer himself , home, and gets carried right past the trees, 
and has to bear up again and again before he can perch.” 

The locking-up bell began to toll, and the two boys 
were silent, and listened to it. The sound soon carried 
Tom off to the river and the wmods, and he began to go 
over in his mind the many occasions on which he had 
heard that toll coming faintly down the breeze, and had 
to pack up his rod in a hurry, and make a run for it, to 
get in before the gates w^ere shut. He was roused with a 
start from his memories by Arthur’s voice, gentle and 
weak from his late illness. 

“Tom, will you be angry if I talk to you very 
seriously ? ” 

“No, dear old boy, not I. But ain’t you faint, 
Arthur, or ill? What can I get you? Don’t say any- 
thing to hurt yourself now — you are very weak; let 
me come up again.” 

“ No, no, I shan’t hurt myself : I’d sooner speak to 
you now, if you don’t mind. I’ve asked Mary to tell the 
Doctor that you are with me, so you needn’t go down to 
calling-over; and I mayn’t have another chance, for I 
shall most likely have to go home for change of air to 
get well, and mayn’t come back this half.” 

“Oh, do you think you must go away before the end 
of the half? I’m so sorry. It’s more than five weeks 
yet to the holidays, and all the fifth-form examinations 
and half the cricket-matches to come yet. And what 
shall I do all that time alone in our study? Why, 
Arthur, it will be more than twelve weeks before I see 
you again. Oh, hang it, I can’t stand that! Besides, 
who’s to keep me up to working at the examination 


344 


MOBE LESSONS 


books? I shall come out bottom of the form as sure as 
eggs is eggs.” 

Tom was rattling on, half in joke, half in earnest, 
for he wanted to get Arthur out of his serious vein, 
thinking it would do him harm ; but Arthur broke in : 

“ Oh, please, Tom, stop, or you’ll drive all I had to 
say out of my head. And I’m already horribly afraid 
I’m going to make you angry.” 

“Don’t gammon, young un,” rejoined Tom, (the use 
of the old name, dear to him from old recollections, made 
Arthur start and smile, and feel quite happy;) “you 
know you ain’t afraid, and you’ve never made me angry 
since the first month we chummed together. Now I’m 
going to be quite sober for a quarter of an hour, which 
is more than I am once in a year; so make the most of 
it ; heave ahead, and pitch into me right and left.” 

“Dear Tom, I ain’t going to pitch into you,” said 
Arthur piteously ; “ and it seems so cocky in me to be 
advising you, who’ve been my backbone ever since I’ve 
been at llugby, and have made the school a paradise to 
me. Ah, I see I shall never do it, unless I go head-over- 
heels at once, as you said when you taught me to swum. 
Tom, I want you to give up using vulgus-books and 
cribs.” 

Arthur sank back on to his pillow with a sigh, as if 
the effort had been great; but the w^orst w^as now over, 
and he looked straight at Tom, w’ho was evidently taken 
aback. He leaned his elbow'S bn his knees, and stuck his 
hands into his hair, whistled a verse of “Billy Taylor,” 
and then w'as quite silent for another minute. Not a 
shade crossed his face, but he was clearly puzzled. At 
last he looked up, and caught Arthur’s anxious look, 
took his hand, and said simply: — 

“Why, young un?” 

“ Because you’re the honestest boy in llugby, and 
that ain’t honest.” 


TOM’S CONFESSIONS 


345 


“ I don’t see that.” 


“What were you sent to Rugby for.?^” 

“Well, I don’t know exactly — nobody ever told me. 
I suppose because all boys are sent to a public school in 
England.’’ 

“But what do you think yourself What do you 
want to do here, and to carry away ? ” 

.Tom thought a minute. “ I want to be A 1 at cricket 
and football, and all the other games, and to make my 
hands keep my head against any fellow, lout or gentle- 
man. I want to get into the sixth before I leave, and 
to please the Doctor; and I want to carry away just as 
much Latin and Greek as will take me through Oxford 
respectably. There now, young un, I never thought of 
it before, but that’s pretty much about my figure. Ain’t 
it all on the square.^ What have you got to say to 
that ? ” 

“Why, that you are pretty sure to do all that you 
want, then.” 

“Well, I hope so. But you’ve forgot one thing, what 
I want to leave behind me. I want to leave behind me,” 
said Tom, speaking slow, and looking much moved, “the 
name of a fellow who never bullied a little boy, or turned 
his back on a bier one.” 


Arthur pressed his hand, and after a moment’.s silence 
went on: “You say, Tom, you want to please the Doc- 
tor. Now, do you want to please him by what he thinks 
you do, or by what you really do.?”’ 

“ By what I really do, of course.” 

“ Does he. think you use cribs and vulgus-books ? ” 
Tom felt at once that his flank was turned, but he 
couldn’t give in. “ He was at Winche.ster himself,” said 
he ; “ he knows all about it.” 

“Yes, but does he think i/ou use them.?^ Do you think 
he approves of it.?*” 


346 


TOM PROPOSES A COMPROMISE 


“You young villain!” said Tom, shaking his fist at 
Arthur, half vexed and half pleased, “ I never think 
about it. Hang it — there, perhaps he don’t. Well, I 
suppose he don’t.” 

Arthur saw that he had got his point; he knew his 
friend well, and was wise in silence as in speech. He 
only said, “ I would sooner have the Doctor’s good 
opinion of me as I really am than any man’s in the 
world.” 

After another minute Tom began again : “ Look 

here, young un, how on earth am I to get time to play 
the matches this half, if I give up cribs We’re in the 
middle of that long crabbed chorus in the Agamemnon ; 
I can only just make head or tail of it with the crib. 
Then there’s Pericles’ speech coming on in Thucydides, 
and ‘The Birds’ to get up for the examination, besides 
the Tacitus.” Tom groaned at the thought of his 
accumulated labors. “ I say, young un, there’s only 
five weeks or so left to holidays ; mayn’t I go on as usual 
for this half.? I’ll tell the Doctor about it some day, or 
you may.” 

Arthur looked out of window ; the twilight had come 
on, and all was silent. He repeated in a low voice, “ In 
this thing the Lord pardon thy servant, that when my 
master goeth into the house of Rimmon to worship there, 
and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow down myself in 
the house of Rimmon, when I bow down myself in the 
house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon thy servant in this 
thing.” 

Not a word more was said on the subject, and the 
boys were again silent — one of those blessed, short 
silences in which the resolves which color a life are so 
often taken. 

Tom was the first to break it. “You’ve been very 
ill indeed, haven’t you, Geordie.?” said he, with a mix- 


TOM OUT-GENEEALLED 


347 ' 


ture of awe and curiosity, feeling as if his friend had 
been in some strange place or scene, of which he could 
form no idea, and full of the memory of his own thoughts 
during the last week. 

“ Yes, ver3^ I’m sure the Doctor thought I was going 
to die. He gave me the Sacrament last Sunday, and you 
can’t think what he is when one is ill. He said such 
brave, and tender, and gentle things to me, I felt quite 
light and strong after it, and never had any more fear. 
My mother brought our old medical man, who attended 
me when I was a poor sickly child ; he said my constitu- 
tion was quite changed, and that I’m fit for an^dhing now. 
If it hadn’t, I couldn’t have stood three days of this 
illness. That’s all thanks to you and the games you’ve 
made me fond of.” 

“ More thanks to old Martin,” said Tom ; “ he’s been 
your real friend.” 

“Nonsense, Tom; he never could have done for me 
what you have.” 

“Well, I don’t know; I did little enough. Did they 
tell you — you won’t mind hearing it now, I know — 
that poor Thompson died last w^eek? The other three 
boys are getting quite round, like you.” 

“ Oh, yes, I heard of it.” 

Then Tom, who was quite full of it, told Arthur of 
the burial service in the chapel, and how it had impressed 
him, and, he believed all the other boys. “ And though 
the Doctor never said a word about it,” said he, “ and 
it was a half-holiday and match day, there wasn’t a game 
played in the close all the afternoon, and the boys all 
went about as if it w'ere Sunday.” 

“ I’m very glad of it,” said Arthur. “ But, Tom, I’ve 
had such strange thoughts about death lately. I’ve never 
told a soul of them, not even my mother. Sometimes I 
think they’re wrong, but, do you know% I don’t think in 


348 


AMTHVE’S FEVER 


my heart I could be sorry at the death of any of my 
friends.” 

Tom was taken quite aback. “ What in the world is 
the young un after now.^” thought he; I’ve swallowed 
a good many of his crotchets, but this altogether beats 
me. He can’t be quite right in his head.” He didn’t 
want to say a word, and shifted about uneasily in the 
dark; however, Arthur seemed to be waiting for an 
answer, so at last he said, “1 don’t think I quite see 
what you mean, Geordie. One’s told so often to think 
about death, that I’ve tried it on sometimes, especially 
this last week. But we won’t talk of it now. I’d better 
go — you’re getting tired, and I shall do you harm.” 

“No, no, indeed I ain’t, Tom; you must stop till 
nine, there’s only twenty minutes. I’ve settled you shall 
J;top till nine. And oh ! do let me talk to you — I must 
talk to you. I see it’s just as I feared. You think I’m 
half mad — don’t you now ^ ” 

“Well, I did think it odd what you said, Geordie, as 
you ask me.” 

Arthur paused a moment, and then said quickly. “ I’ll 
tell you how it all happened. At firsts when I was sent 
to the sick-room, and found I had really got the fever, 
I was terribly frightened. I thought I should die, and 
I could not face it for a moment’. I don’t think it was 
sheer cowardice at first, but I thought how hard it was 
to be taken away from my mother and sisters, and you 
all, just as I was beginning to see my way to many things, 
and to feel that I might be a man and do a man’s work. 
To die without having fought, and worked, and given 
one’s life away, was too hard to bear. I got terribly 
impatient, and accused God of injustice, and strove to 
justify myself; and the harder I strove, the deeper I 
sank. Then the image of my dear father often came 
across me, but I turned from it. Whenever it came, a 


AETUUE’S FEVEE 


349 


heavy numbing throb seemed to take hold of my heart, 
and say, ‘Dead — dead — dead.’ And I cried out, ‘The 
living, the living shall praise Thee, O God; the dead 
cannot praise Thee. There is no work in the grave ; in 
the night no man can work. But I can work. I can 
do great things. I will do great things. Why wilt Thou 
slay me ? ’ And so I struggled and plunged, deeper and 
deeper, and went down into a living black tomb. I was 
alone there, with no power to stir or think; alone with 
mj^self ; beyond the reach of all human fellowship; 
beyond Christ’s reach, I thought, in my nightmare. You, 
who are brave and bright and strong, can have no idea 
of that agony. Pray to God you never may. Pray as 
for your life.” 

Arthur stopped — from exhaustion, Tom thought; 
but what between his fear lest Arthur should hurt him- 
self, his awe, and longing for him to go on, he couldn’t 
ask, or stir to help him. 

Presently he went on, but quite calm and slow. “I 
don’t know how long I was in that state. For more than 
a day, I know; for I was quite conscious, and lived my 
outer life all the time, and took my medicines, and spoke 
to my mother, and heard what they said. But I didn’t 
take much note of time; I thought time was over for me, 
and that that tomb was what was beyond. Well, on last 
Sunday morning, as I seemed to lie in that tomb, alone, 
as I thought, forever and ever, the black dead wall was 
cleft in two, and I was caught up and borne through 
into the light b}^ some great power, some living mighty 
spirit. Tom, do you remember the living creatures and 
the wheels in Ezekiel It was just like that: ‘when 
they went I heard the noise of their wings, like the noise 
of great w^aters, as the voice of the Almighty, the 
voice of speech, as the noise of an host ; when they stood 
they let down their wings ’ — ‘ and they went every one 


350 


ABTHVM’S FEVER 


straight forward ; whither the spirit was to go they went, 
and they turned not when they went.’ And we rushed 
through the bright air, which was full of myriads of 
living creatures, and paused on the brink of a great river. 
And the power held me up, and I knew that that great 
river was the grave, and death dwelt there; but not the 
death I had met in the black tomb — that I felt was gone 
forever. For on the other bank of the great river I saw 
men and women and children rising up pure and bright, 
and the tears were wiped from their eyes, and they put 
on glory and strength, and all weariness and pain fell 
away. And beyond were a multitude which no man 
could number, and they worked at some great work ; and 
they who rose from the river went on and joined in the 
work. They all worked, and each worked in a different 
way, but all at the same work. And I saw there my 
father, and the men in the old town whom I knew when 
I was a child; many a hard stern man, who never came 
to church, and whom they called atheist and infidel. 
There they were, side by side with my father, whom I 
had seen toil and die for them, and women and little 
children, and the seal w^as on the foreheads of all. And 
I longed to see what the work w’as, and could not; so 
I tried to plunge in the river, for I thought I would join 
them, but I could not. Then I looked about to see how' 
they got into the river. And this I could not see, but 
I saw' myriads on this side, and they, too, worked, and I 
knew' that it w'as the same work; and the same seal w'as 
on their foreheads. And though I saw that there was 
toil and anguish in the work of these, and that most 
that w'ere w'orking were blind and feeble, yet I longed 
no more to plunge into the river, but more and more to 
know' what the work was. And as I looked I saw my 
mother and my sisters, and I saw the Doctor, and you, 
Tom, and hundreds more whom I knew ; and at last I 


AETHUE’S FEVEE 


351 


saw myself, too, and 1 was toiling and doing ever so 
little a piece of the great work. Then it all melted away, 
and the power left me, and as it left me I thought I 
heard a voice say, ‘The vision is for an appointed time^ 
though it tarry, wait for it, for in the end it shall speak 
and not lie, it shall surely come, it shall not tarry.’ It 
was early morning I know then, it was so quiet and cool, 
and my mother was fast asleep in the chair by my bed- 
side ; but it wasn’t only a dream of mine. I know it 
wasn’t a dream. Then I fell into a deep sleep, and only 
woke after afternoon chapel; and the Doctor came and 
gave me the Sacrament, as I told you. I told him and 
my mother I should get well — I knew I should; but I 
couldn’t tell them why. Tom,” said Arthur, gently, after 
another minute, “ do you see why I could not grieve now 
to see my dearest friend die.^ It can’t be — it isn’t all 
fever or illness. God would never have let me see it so 
clear if it wasn’t true. I don’t understand it all yet — 
it will take me my life and longer to do that — to find 
out what the work is.” 

When Arthur stopped there was a long pause. Tom 
could not speak, he was almost afraid to breathe, lest 
he should break the strain of Arthur’s thoughts. He 
longed to hear more, and to ask questions. In another 
minute nine o’clock struck, and a gentle tap at the door 
called them both back into the world again. They di(5 
not answer, however, for a moment, and so the door 
opened and a lady came in carrying a candle. 

She went straight to the sofa, and took hold of 
Arthur’s hand, and then stooped down and kissed him. 

“My dearest boy, you feel a little feverish again. 
Why didn’t you have lights? You’ve talked too much, 
and excited yourself in the dark.” 

“ Oh, no, mother, you can’t think how well I feel. I 
shall start with you tomorrow for Devonshire. But, 


352 


AETHUB’S MOT REE 


mother, here’s my friend, here’s Tom Brown — you know 
him ? ” 

‘‘Yes, indeed, I’ve known him for years,” she said, 
and held out her hand to Tom, who was now standing 
up behind the sofa. This w^as Arthur’s mother. Tall 
and slight and fair, with masses of golden hair drawm 
back from the broad white forehead, and the calm blue 
eye meeting his so deep and open — the eye that he knew 
so w^ell, for it was his friend’s over again, and the lovely 
tender mouth that trembled while he looked. She stood 
there a woman of thirty-eight, old enough to- be his 
mother, and one whose face showed the lines which must 
be written on the faces of good men’s wives and widows 
— but he thought he had never seen anything so beauti- 
ful. He couldn’t help wondering if Arthur’s sisters were 
like her. 

Tom held her hand, and looked on straight in her face ; 
he could neither let it go nor speak. 

“ Now, Tom,” said Arthur, laughing, “ w^here are your 
manners .P you’ll stare my mother out of countenance.” 
Tom dropped the little hand with a sigh. “There, sit 
down, both of you. Here, dearest mother, there’s room 
here,” — and he made a place on the sofa for her. “ Tom, 
you needn’t go ; I’m sure you W' on’t be called up at first 
lesson.” Tom felt that he would risk being floored at 
every lesson for the rest of his natural school-life sooner 
than go, so sat dowm. “ And now',” said Arthur, “ I 
have realized one of the dearest washes of my life, — to 
see you two together.” 

And then he led aw'ay the talk to their home in Devon- 
shire, and the red bright earth, and the deep green 
combes, and the peat streams like cairngorm pebbles, and 
the wild moor with its high cloudy Tors for a giant 
background to the picture — till Tom got jealous, and 
stood up for the clear chalk streams, and the emerald 


ABTHUB^S MOTHER 


353 


water meadows and great elms and willows of the dear old 
Royal county, as he gloried to call it. And the mother 
sat on quiet and loving, rejoicing in their life. The 
quarter to ten struck, and the bell rang for bed, before 
they had well begun their talk, as it seemed. 

Then Tom rose with a sigh to go. 

“ Shall I see you in the morning, Geordie ? ” said he, 
as he shook his friend’s hand. “Never mind, though; 
you’ll be back next half, and I shan’t forget the house 
of Rimmon.” 

Arthur’s mother got up and walked with him to the 
door, and there gave him her hand again, and again his 
eyes met that deep loving look, which was like a spell 
upon him. Her voice trembled slightly as she said, 
“ Good-night — you are one who knows what our Father 
has promised to the friend of the widow and the father- 
less. Ma}^ He deal with you as you have dealt with me 
and mine ! ” 

Tom was quite upset; he mumbled something about 
owing everything good in him to Geordie — looked in her 
face again, pressed her hand to his lips, and rushed down- 
stairs to his study, where he sat till old Thomas came 
kicking at the door, to tell him his allowance would be 
stopped if he didn’t go off to bed. (It would have been 
stopped anyhow but that he was a great favorite with 
the old gentleman, who loved to come out in the after- 
noons into the close to Tom’s wicket, and bowl slow 
twisters to him, and talk of the glories of bygone Surrey 
heroes, wdth whom he had played in former generations.) 
So Tom roused himself, and took up his candle to go to 
bed; and then for the first time was aware of a beautiful 
new fishing-rod, with old Eton’s mark on it, and a splen- 
didly bound Bible, which lay on his table, on the title- 
page of which w'as wHtten — “Tom Brown, from his 


354 


TOM’S BE W AMDS 


affectionate and grateful friends, Frances Jane Arthur, 
George Arthur.” 

I leave you all to guess how he slept, and what he 
dreamt of. 


CHAPTER VII 


HARRY east’s DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES 

The Holy Supper is kept indeed, 

In whatso we share with another’s need — 

Not that which we give, but what we share, 

For the gift without the giver is bare: 

Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three. 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me. 

Lowell, The Vision of Sir Launfal. 

The next morning, after breakfast, Tom, East, and 
Gower met as usual to learn their second lesson together. 
Tom had been considering how to break his proposal of 
giving up the crib to the others, and having found no 
better way, (as indeed none better can ever be found 
by man or boy,) told them simply what had happened; 
how he had been to see Arthur, who had talked to him 
upon the subject, and what he had said, and for his part 
lie had made up his mind, and wasn’t going to use cribs 
any more, and not being quite sure of his ground, took 
the high and pathetic tone, and was proceeding to say, 
“how that having learned his lessons with them for so 
many years, it would grieve him much to put an end 
to the arrangement, and he hoped at any rate that if 
they w'ouldn’t go on with him, they should still be just 
as good friends, and respect one another’s motives — 
but — ” 

Here the other boys, who had been listening with open 
eyes and ears, burst in. 


S55 


356 


TOM SPRINGS HIS MINE 


“ Stuff and nonsense ! ” cried Gower. “ Here, East, 
get down the crib and find the place.” 

“Oh, Tommy, Tommy!” said East, proceeding to do 
as he was bidden, “ that it should ever have come to this. 
I knew Arthur’d be the ruin of you some day, and you 
of me. And now the time’s come” — and he made a 
doleful face. 

“ I don’t know about ruin,” answered Tom ; “ I know 
that you and I would have had the sack long ago if it 
hadn’t been for him. And you know it as well as I.” 

“Well, we were in a baddish way before he came, I 
own; but this new crotchet of his is past a joke.” 

“Let’s give it a trial, Harry; come — you know how 
often he has been right and we wrong.” 

“Now, don’t you two be jawing away about young 
Square-toes,” struck in Gower. “ He’s no end of a suck- 
ing wiseacre, I dare say, but we’ve no time to lose, and 
I’ve got the fives’-court at half-past nine.” 

“ I say, Gower,” said Tom, appealingly, “ be a good 
fellow, and let’s try if we can’t get on without the 
crib.” 

“What! in this chorus? Why, we shan’t get through 
ten lines.” 

“ I say, Tom,” cried East, having hit on a new idea, 
“ don’t you remember, when we were in the upper fourth, 
and old Momus caught me construing off the leaf of a 
crib which I’d torn out and put in my book, and which 
would float out on to the floor, he sent me up to be 
flogged for it?” 

“ Yes, I remember it very well.” 

“Well, the Doctor, after he’d flogged me, told me 
himself that he didn’t flog me for using a translation, 
but for taking it into lesson, and using it there when I 
hadn’t learnt a word before I came in. He said there was 
no harm in using a translation to get a clue to hard 


RESULTS OF THE EXPLOSION 


,357 

passages, if you tried all you could first to make them 
out without.” 

‘‘Did he, though.^ ’'said Tom; “then Arthur must be 
wrong.” 

“ Of course he is,” said Gower, “ the little prig. 
We’ll only use the crib when we can’t construe without 
it. Go ahead. East.” 

And on this agreement they started: Tom, satisfied 
with having made his confession, and not sorry to have 
a loct^s pccnitentia, and not to l)c deprived altogether of 
the use of his old and faithful friend. 

The boys went on as usual, each taking a sentence in 
turn, and the crib being handed to the one whose turn 
it was to construe. Of course Tom couldn’t object to 
this, as, was it not simply ljung there to be appealed to 
in case the sentence should prove too hard altogether for 
the construe!*.^ But it must be owned that Gower and 
East did not make very tremendous exertions to con- 
quer their sentences before having recourse to its help. 
Tom, however, with the most heroic virtue and gallantry 
rushed into his sentence, searching in a high-minded 
manner for nominative and verb, and turning over his 
dictionary franticall}’ for the first hard word that stopped 
him. But in the mean time, Gower, who was bent on 
getting to fives, would peep quietly into the crib, and 
then suggest, “Don’t you think this is the meaning.^” 
“T think you must take it this way. Brown;” and as 
Tom didn’t see his way to not profiting by these sug- 
gestions, the lesson went on about as quickly as usual, 
and Gower was able to start for the fives’-court within 
five minutes of the half-hour. 

When Tom and East were left face to face, they 
looked at one another for a minute, Tom puzzled, and 
East chock full cf fun, and then burst into a roar of 
laughter. 


358 


BESULTS OF TEE EXPLOSION 


“Well, Tom,” said East, recovering himself, “I don’t 
see any objection to the new way. It’s about as good 
as the old one, I think; besides the advantage it gives 
one of feeling virtuous, and looking down on one’s 
neighbors.” 

Tom shoved his hand into his back hair. “ I ain’t 
so sure,” said he; “you tw^o fellows carried me off my 
legs: I don’t think we really tried one sentence fairly. 
Are you sure you remember what the Doctor said to 
you.?” 

“Yes. And I’ll swear I couldn’t make out one of 
my sentences today. No, nor ever could. I really don’t 
remember,” said East, speaking slowly and impressively, 
“ to have come across one Latin or Greek sentence this 
half that I could go and construe by the light of nature ; 
whereby I am sure Providence intended cribs to be used.” 

“The thing to find out,” said Tom meditatively, “is 
how' long one ought to grind at a sentence without look- 
ing at the crib. Now I think if one fairly looks out all 
the words one don’t know , and then can’t hit it, that’s 
enough.” 

“ To be sure. Tommy,” said East demurely, but wdth 
a merry twinkle in his eye. “ Your new doctrine, too, old 
fellow,” added he, “when one comes to think of it, is 
a-cutting at the root of all school morality. You’ll take 
away mutual help, brotherly love, or, in the vulgar 
tongue, giving construes, which I hold to be one of our 
liighest virtues; for how^ can you distinguish between 
getting a construe from another boy and using a crib.? 
Hang it, Tom, if you’re going to deprive all our school- 
fellows of the chance of exercising Christian benevolence 
and being good Samaritans, I shall cut the concern.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t joke about it, Harry; it’s hard 
enough to see one’s way, a precious sight harder than I 
thought last night. But I suppose there’s a use and an 


TRE ENEMY’S DEFENSE 


359 


abuse of both, and one’ll get straight enough somehow. 
But you can’t make out anyhow that one has a right to 
use old vulgus-books and copy-books.” 

“Hullo, more heresy! how fast a fellow goes down 
hill when he once gets his head before his legs. Listen 
to me, Tom. Not use old vulgus-books.^ — ^'liy? you 
Goth I ain’t we to take the benefit of the wisdom, and 
admire and use the work of past generations.^ Not use 
old copy-books I Why, you might as well say we ought 
to pull down Westminster Abbey, and put up a go-to- 
meeting shop with churchwarden windows ; or never read 
Shakespeare, but only Sheridan Knowles. Think of all 
the work and labor that our predecessors have bestowed 
on these very books, and are we to make their work of 
no value.?” 

“ I say, Harry, please don’t chaff ; I’m really serious.” 

“And then is it not our duty to consult the pleasure 
of others rather than our own, and above all that of our 
masters.? Fancy then the difference to them in looking 
over a vulgus which has been carefully touched and re- 
touched by themselves and others, and wdiich must bring 
them a sort of dreamy pleasure, as if they’d met the 
thought or expression of it somewhere or another — 
before they Avere born, perhaps; and that of cutting up, 
and making picture-frames round all your and my false 
quantities and other monstrosities. Why, Tom, you 
wouldn’t be so cruel as never to let old Momus hum over 
the ‘ O genus humanum,’ again, and then look up doubt- 
ingly through his spectacles, and end by smiling and 
giving three extra marks for it: just for old sake’s sake, 
I suppose.” 

“ Well,” said Tom, getting up in something as like a 
huff as he was capable of, “it’s deuced hard that when 
a fellow’s really trying to do what he ought, his best 
friends’ll do nothing but chaff him and try to put him 


360 


THE ENEUY’S DEFENSE 


down.” And he stuck his books under his arm and his 
hat on his head, preparatory to rushing out into the 
quadrangle, to testify with his own soul of the faith- 
lessness of friendships. 

“ Now don’t be an ass, Tom,” said East, catching hold 
of him, “you know me well enough by this time; my 
bark’s worse than my bite. You can’t expect to ride your 
new crotchet without anybody’s trying to stick a nettle 
under his tail and make him kick you off: especially 
as we shall all have to go on foot still. But now sit 
down and let’s go over it again. I’ll be as serious as a 
judge.” 

Then Tom sat himself down on the table, and waxed 
eloquent about all the righteousnesses and advantages 
of the new plan, as was his wont whenever he took up 
anything; going into it as if his life depended upon 
it, and sparing no abuse which he could think of of the 
opposite method, which he denounced as ungentlemanly, 
cowardly, mean, lying, and no one knows what besides. 
“Very cool of Tom,” as East thought, but didn’t say, 
“ seeing as how he only came out of Eg3^pt himself last 
night at bedtime.” 

“Well, Tom,” said he at last, “you see, when you and 
I came to school there were none of these sort of notions. 
You may be right — I dare say you are. Only what one 
has always felt about the masters is, that it’s a fair trial 
of skill and last between us and them — like a match 
at football, or a battle. We’re natural enemies in school, 
that’s the fact. We’ve got to learn so much Latin and 
Greek and do so many verses, and they’ve got to see 
that we do it. If we can slip the collar and do so much 
less without getting caught, that’s one to us. If thev 
can get more out of us, or catch us shirking, that’s one 
to them. All’s fair in war but lying. If I run my luck 
against theirs, and go into school without looking at my 


TRE ENEMY’S DEFENSE 


361 


lessons, and don’t get called up, why am I a snob or a 
sneak? I don’t tell the master I’ve learnt it. He’s got 
to find out whether I have or not; what’s he paid for? 
If he calls me up, and I get floored, he makes me write 
it out in Greek and English. Very good; he’s caught 
me, and I don’t grumble. I grant you, if I go and snivel 
to him, and tell him I’ve really tried to learn it, but 
found it so hard without a translation, or say I’ve had 
a toothache or any humbug of that kind, I’m a snob. 
That’s my school morality ; it’s served me and you, too, 
Tom, for the matter of that, these five years. And it’s 
all clear and fair, no mistake about it. We understand 
it, and they understand it, and I don’t know what we’re 
to come to with any other.” 

.Tom looked at him pleased, and a little puzzled. He 
had never heard East speak his mind seriously before, 
and couldn’t help feeling how completely he had hit his 
own theory and practice up to that time. 

“Thank you, old fellow,” said he. “You’re a good 
old brick to be serious, and not put out wuth me. I said 
more than I meant, I dare say, only you see I know I’m 
right: whatever you and Gower and the rest do, I shall 
hold on — I must. And as it’s all new and an uphill 
game, you see, one must hit hard and hold on tight at 
first.” 

“Very good,” said East; “hold on and hit away, only 
don’t hit under the line.” 

“But I must bring you over, Harry, or I shan’t be 
comfortable. Now, I allow all you’ve said. We’ve always 
been honorable enemies with the masters. We found 
a state of war when we came, and went into it, of course. 
Only don’t you think things are altered a good deal? 
I don’t feel as I used to the masters. They seem to me 
to treat one quite differently.” 

“Yes, perhaps they do,” said East; “there’s a new 


362 


AKTHUE GOES HOME 


set, you see, mostly, who don’t feel sure of themselves 
yet. They don’t want to fight till they know the ground.” 

“I don’t think it’s only that,” said Tom. “And then 
the Doctor, he does treat one so openly, and like a 
gentleman, and as if one was working with him.” 

“ Well, so he does,” said East ; “ he’s a splendid fellow, 
and when I get into the sixth I shall act accordingly. 
Only you know he has nothing to do with our lessons 
now, except examining us. I say, though,” looking at 
his watch, “ it’s just the quarter. Come along.” 

As they walked out they got a message to say “ that 
Arthur was just starting and would like to say good- 
bye ; ” so they went down to the private entrance of the 
School-house, and found an open carriage, with Arthur 
propped up with pillows in it, looking already better, 
Tom thought. 

They jumped up on to the steps to shake hands wdth 
him, and Tom mumbled thanks for the presents he had 
found in his study, and looked round anxiously for 
Arthur’s mother. 

b^ast, who had fallen back into his usual humor, looked 
quaintly at Arthur, and said : — 

“ So you’ve been at it again, through that hot-headed 
convert of yours there. He’s been making our lives a 
burden to us all the morning about using cribs. I shall 
get floored to a certainty at second lesson, if I’m called 
up.” 

Arthur blushed and looked down. Tom struck in: — 

“ Oh, it’s all right. He’s converted already ; he 
always comes through the mud after us, grumbling and 
sputtering.” 

The clock struck, and they had to go off to school, 
w ishing Arthur a pleasant holiday ; Tom lingering 
behind a moment to send his thanks and love to 
Arthur’s mother. 


TRE SIEGE BEOPENS 


363 


Tom renewed the discussion after second lesson, and 
succeeded so far as to get East to promise to give the 
new plan a fair trial. 

Encouraged by his success, in the evening, when they 
were sitting alone in the large study, where East lived 
now almost, ^^vice Arthur on leave,” after examining the 
new fishing-rod, which both pronounced to be the genu- 
ine article, (“play enough to throw a midge tied on a 
single hair against the wind, and strength enough to 
hold a grampus,”) they naturally began talking about 
Arthur. Tom, who was till bubbling over with last 
night’s scene and all the thoughts of the last week, and 
wanting to clinch and fix the whole in his own mind, which 
he could never do without first going through the process 
of belaboring somebody else with it all, suddenly rushed 
into the subject of Arthur’s illness, and what he had 
said about death. 

East had given him the desired opening : after a 
serio-comic grumble, “ that life wasn’t worth having now 
they were tied to a young beggar who was always ‘ rais- 
ing his standard ; ’ and that he. East, was like a prophet’s 
donkey, who was obliged to struggle on after the 
donkey-man who w^ent after the prophet; that he had 
none of the pleasure of starting the new crotchets, and 
didn’t half understand them, but had to take the kicks 
and carry the luggage as if he liad all the fun” — he 
threw his legs up on to the sofa, and put his hands 
behind his head, and said: — 

“Well, after all, he’s the most wonderful little fellow' 
I ever came across. There ain’t such a meek, humble 
boy in the school. Hanged if I don’t think now really, 
Tom, that he believes himself a much worse fellow than 
vou or I, and that he don’t think he has more influence 
in the house than Dot Bowles, who came last quarter, 
and ain’t ten yet. But he turns you and me round his 


364 


FEIENDSHIP TESTED 


little finger, old boy — there’s no mistake about that.” 
And East nodded at Tom sagaciously. 

“Now or never!” thought Tom; so shutting his eyes 
and hardening his heart, he went straight at it, repeat- 
ing all that Arthur had said, as near as he could remember 
it, in the very words, and all he had himself thought. 
The life seemed to ooze out of it as he went on, and 
several times he felt inclined to stop, give it all up, and 
change the subject. But somehow he was borne on, he 
had a necessity upon him to speak it all out, and did 
so. At the end he looked at East with some anxiety, 
and was delighted to see that that young gentleman 
was thoughtful and attentive. The fact is, that in the 
stage of his inner life at wdiich Tom had lately arrived, 
his intimacy with and friendship for East could not have 
lasted if he had not made hinl aware of, and a sharer in, 
the thoughts that were beginning to exercise him. Nor 
indeed could the friendship have lasted if East had 
shown no sympathy with these thoughts; so that it was 
a great relief to have unbosomed himself, and to have 
found that his friend could listen. 

Tom had always had a sort of instinct that East’s 
levity was only skin-deep; and this instinct was a true 
one. East had no want of reverence for anything he 
felt to be real: but his was one of those natures that 
burst into what is generally called recklessness and im- 
piety the moment they feel that anything is being 
poured upon them for their good, which does not come 
home to their inborn sense of right, or which appeals to 
an3dhing like sejf-interest in them. Daring and honest 
by nature, and outspoken to an extent which alarmed all 
respectabilities, with a constant fund of animal health 
and spirits which he did not feel bound to curb in an^" 
wa}^, he had gained for himself, with the steady part 
of the school, (including as well those who wished to 


FRIENDSHIP TESTED 


n65 


appear steady as those who really were so,) the character 
of a boy whom it would be dangerous to be intimate 
with ; while his own hatred of everything cruel or under- 
hand or false, and his hearty respect for what he could 
see to be good and true, kept off the rest. 

Tom, besides being very like East in many points of 
character, had largely developed in his composition the 
capacity for taking the weakest side. This is not putting 
it strongly enough ; it was a necessity with him : he 
couldn’t help it any more than he could eating or drink- 
ing. He could never play on the strongest side with 
any heart at football or cricket, and was sure to make 
friends with any boy who was unpopular or down on 
his luck. 

Now though East was not what is generally called 
unpopular, Tom felt more and more every day, as their 
characters developed, that he stood alone, and did not 
make friends among their contemporaries, and therefore 
sought' him out. Tom was himself much more popular, 
for his power of detecting humbug was much less acute, 
and his instincts were much more sociable. He was at 
this period of his life, too, largely given to taking 
people for what they gave themselves out to be; but 
his singleness of heart, fearlessness, and honesty were 
just what East appreciated, and thus the two had been 
drawn into great intimacy. 

This intimacy had not been interrupted by Torn’s 
guardianship of Arthur. 

East had often, as has been said, joined them in read- 
ing the Bible; but their discussions had almost always 
turned upon the characters of the men and women of 
whom they read, and not become personal to themselves. 
In fact, the two had shrunk from personal religious dis- 
cussion, not knowing how it might end; and fearful of 
risking a friendship very dear to both, and which they 


3’66 


FRIENDSHIP TESTED 


felt somehow, without quite knowing why, would never 
be the same, but either tenfold stronger or sapped at its 
foundation, after such a communing together. 

What a bother all this explaining is ! I wish we could 
get on without it. But we can’t. However, you’ll all 
find, if you haven’t found it out already, that a time 
comes in every human friendship, when you. must go 
down into the depths of yourself, and lay bare what is 
there to your friend, and w^ait in fear for his answer. 
A few moments may do it; and it may be (most likel}^ 
will be, as you are English boys) that you never do it 
but once. But done it must be, if the friendship is to 
be worth the name. You must find what is there, at the 
very root and bottom of one another’s hearts ; and if 
you are at one there, nothing on earth can, or at least 
ought to sunder you. 

East had remained lying down until Tom finished 
speaking, as if fearing to interrupt him ; he now sat 
up at the table, and leaned his head on one hand, taking 
up a pencil with the other, and w'orking little holes with 
it in the tablecover. After a bit he looked up, stopped 
tlie pencil, and said, “Thank you very much, old fellow ; 
there’s no other boy in the house would have done it for 
me but you or Arthur. I can see w'ell enough,” he 
w ent on after a pause, “ all the best big fellow's look 
on me with suspicion ; they think I’m a devil-may-care, 
reckless young scamp. So I am — eleven hours out of 
twelve — but not the twelfth. Then all of our contem- 
poraries worth knowing follow suit, of course; we’re 
very good friends at games and all that, but not a soul 
of them but you and Arthur ever tried to break through 
the crust, and see whether there was anything at the 
bottom of me; and then the bad ones I won’t stand, and 
they know’ that.” 

“Don’t you think that’s half fancy, Harry?” 


FRIENDSHIP TESTED 


367 


“Not a bit of it,” said East bitterly, pegging away 
with bis pencil. “ I see it all plain enough. Bless you, 
you think everybody’s as straightforward and kind- 
hearted as you are.” 

“Well, but what’s the reason of it.? There must he 
a reason. You can play all the games as well as any 
one, and sing the best song, and are the best company 
in the house. You fancy you’re not liked, Harry. It’s 
all fancy.” 

“ I only wish it was, Tom. I know I could be popular 
enough with all the bad ones, but that I won’t have, and 
the good ones w'on’t have me.” 

“Why not.?” persisted Tom; “you don’t drink or 
swear, or get out at night ; you never bully, or cheat at 
lessons. If you only showed you liked it, you’d have all 
the best fellows in the house running after you.” 

“Not I,” said East. Then with an effort he went on, 
“ I’ll tell you wEat it is. I never stop the Sacrament. 
I can see, from the Doctor downwards, how that tells 
against me.” '' 

“Yes, I’ve seen that,” said/Eom, “and I’ve been very 
sorry for it, and Arthur and I have talked about it. 
I’ve often thought of speaking to you, but it’s so hard 
to begin on such subjects. I’m very glad you opened it. 
Now, why don’t you.?” 

“ I’ve never been confirmed ! ” said East. 

“Not been confirmed!” said Tom in astonishment. 
“ I never thought of that. Why weren’t you confirmed 
with the rest of us nearly three years ago.? I always 
thought you’d been confirmed at home.” 

“No,” answered East sorrowfully; “you see this was 
how it happened. Last Confirmation was soon after 
Arthur came, and you were so taken up with him, I 
hardly saw either of you. Well, when the Doctor sent 
round for us about it, I was living mostly with Green’s 


368 


EAST’S CONFESSIONS 


set — you know the sort. Tliey all went in — I dare say 
it was all right, and they got good by it ; I don’t want 
to judge them. Only all I could see of their reasons 
drove me just the other way. ’Twas ‘ because the Doctor 
liked it ; ’ ‘no boy got on who didn’t stay the Sacra- 
ment ; ’ it was ‘ the correct thing,’ in fact, like having 
a good hat to wear on Sundays. I couldn’t stand it. I 
didn’t feel that I wanted to lead a different life, I was 
very well content as I was, and I wasn’t going to sham 
religious to curry favor with the Doctor or any one 
else.” 

East stopped speaking, and pegged away more dili- 
gently than ever with his pencil. Tom w^as ready to cry. 
He felt half sorry at first that he had been confirmed 
himself. He seemed to have deserted his earliest friend, 
to have left him by himself at his worst need for those 
long years. He got up and went and sat by East and 
put his arm over his shoulder. 

“Dear old boy,” he said, “how careless and selfish 
I’ve been. But why didn’t you come and talk to Arthur 
and me.^” 

“ I wush to heaven I had,” said East ; “ but I w as a 
fool. It’s too late talking of it now'.” 

“Why too late.^ You want to be confirmed now, 
don’t you?” 

“ I think so,” said East. “ I’ve thought about it a 
good deal: only often I fancy I must be changing, 
because I see it’s to do me good here, just what stopped 
me last time. And then I go back again.” 

“ I’ll tell you now' how' ’twas with me,” said Tom 
warmly. “If it hadn’t been for Arthur, I should have 
done just as you did. I hope I should. I honor you for 
it. But then he made it out just as if it w'as taking the 
weak side before all the world — going in once for all 
against everything that’s strong and rich and proud and 


EAST^S CONFESSIONS 


369 


respectable, a little band of brothers against the whole 
world. And the Doctor seemed to say so, too, only he 
said a great deal more.” 

“Ah!” groaned East, “but there again, that’s just 
another of my difficulties whenever I think about the 
matter. I don’t want to be one of your saints, one of 
your elect, whatever the right phrase is. My sympathies 
are all the other way ; with the many, the poor devils 
who run about the streets and don’t go to church. Don’t 
stare, Tom; mind, I’m telling you all that’s in my heart 
— as far as I know it — but it’s all a muddle. You 
must be gentle witli me if you want to land me. Now 
I’ve seen a deal of this sort of religion ; I was bred up 
in it, and I can’t stand it. If nineteen twentieths of the 
world are to be left to uncovenanted mercies and that 
sort of thing, which means in plain English to go to 
hell, and the other twentieth are to rejoice at it all, 
why — ” 

“Oh! but, Harry, they ain’t, they don’t,” broke in 
Tom, really shocked. “Oh, how I wish Arthur hadn’t 
gone! I’m such a fool about these things. But it’s all 
vou want, too. East; it is indeed. It cuts both ways 
somehow, being confirmed and taking the Sacrament. It 
makes you feel on the side of all the good and all the 
bad, too, of everybody in the world. Only there’s some 
great dark strong power, which is crushing you and 
everybody else. That’s what Christ conquered, and we’ve 
got to fighh Wliat a fool I am! I can’t explain. If 
Arthur were only h.ere ! ” 

“ I begin to get a glimmering of what you mean,” 
said East. 

“I s*ay now,” said Tom eagerly, “do you remember 
how we both hated Flashman.?” 

“ Of course I do,” said F.ast ; “ I hate him still. What 
then ” 


370 


TOM’S PRESCRIPTION 


“Well, when I came to take the Sacrament I had a 
great struggle about that. I tried to put him out ot 
my head; and when 1 couldn’t do that, X tried to think 
of him as evil, as something that the Lord who was loving 
me hated, and which I might hate, too. But it wouldn’t 
do. I broke down ; I believe Christ himself broke me 
down ; and when the Doctor gave me the bread and wine, 
and leaned over me praying, I prayed for poor Flashman 
as if it had been you or Arthur.” 

YiRst buried his face in his hands on the table. Tom 
could feel the table tremble. At last he looked up. 
“Thank you again, Tom,” said he; “you don’t know 
wliat you may have done for me tonight. I think I see 
now how the right sort of sympathy with poor devils is 
got at.” 

“ And you’ll stop the Sacrament next time, won’t 
you.^” said Tom. 

“Can I, before I’m confirmed.^” 

“ Go and ask the Doctor.” 

“ I will.” 

That very night, after prayers. East followed the 
Doctor and the old verger bearing the candle upstairs. 
Tom watched, and saw' the Doctor turn round wLen he 
heard footsteps following him closer than usual, and say, 
“ Hah, East ! Do you want to speak to me, my man ? ” 

“ If you please, sir ; ” and the private door closed, 
and Tom w^ent to his study in a state of great trouble of 
mind. 

It was almost an hour before East came back: then 
lie rushed in breathless. 

“ Well, it’s all right,” he shouted, seizing Tom by 
the hand. “ I feel as if a ton weight were off my" mind.” 

“ Hurra,” said Tom. “ I knew' it w ould be, but tell 
us all about it.” 

“Well, I just told him all about it. You can’t think 


THE EFFECT THEBEOF 


371 


how kind and gentle he was, the great grim man, wliom 
I’ve feared more than anybody on earth. When I 
stuck, he lifted me, just as if I’d been a little child. And 
he seemed to know all I’d felt, and to have gone through 
it all. And I burst out crying — more than I’ve done 
this five years, and he sat down by me, and stroked my 
head ; and I went blundering on, and told him all ; mucli 
worse things than I’ve told you. And he wasn’t shocked 
a bit, and didn’t snub me, or tell me I was a fool, and it 
was all nothing but pride or wickedness, though I dare 
say it was. And he didn’t tell me not to follow out my 
thoughts, and he didn’t give me any cut-and-dried expla- 
nation. But when I’d done he just talked a bit — I can 
hardly remember what he said, yet ; but it seemed to 
spread round me like healing, and strength, and light ; 
and to bear me up, and plant me on a rock, where I 
could hold my footing, and fight for myself. I don’t 
know what to do, I feel so happy. And it’s all owing 
to you, dear old boy!” and he seized Tom’s hand again. 

“And you’re to come to the Communion.^” said Tom. 

“Yes, and to be confirmed in the holidays.” 

Tom’s delight was as great as his friend’s. But he 
hadn’t yet had out all his oWn talk, and was bent on 
improving the occasion : so he proceeded to propound 
Arthur’s theory about not being sorry for his friends’ 
deaths, which he had hitherto kept in the background, 
and by which he was much exercised ; for he didn’t feel 
it honest to take what pleased him and throw over 
the rest, and was trying vigorously to persuade him- 
self that he should like all his best friends to die off- 
hand. 

But East’s powers of remaining serious were ex- 
hausted, and in five minutes he was saying the most 
ridiculous things he could think of, till Tom was almost 
getting angry again. 


372 


TRE EFFECT TREE EOF 


Despite of himself, however, he couldn’t help laughing 
and giving it up when East appealed to him with “ Well, 
Tom, you ain’t going to punch my head, I hope, because 
1 insist upon being sorry when you get to earth?” 

And so their talk finished for that time, and they tried 
to learn first lesson; with very poor success, as appeared 
next morning, when they were called up and narrowly 
esciaped being floored, which ill-luck, however, did not 
sit heavily on either of their souls. 


CHAPTER Vni 


TOM brown’s last MATCH 

Heaven grant the manlier heart, that timely, ere 
Youth fly, with life’s real tempest would be coping; 

The fruit of dreamy hoping. 

Is, waking, blank despair. 

Clough, Ambarvalia. 

The curtain now rises upon the last act of our little 
drama; for hard-hearted publishers warn me that a 
single volume must of necessit}^ have an end. Well, 
well ! the pleasantest things must come to an end. I 
little thought last long vacation, when I began these 
pages to help while a’waj some spare time at a watering 
place, how vividly many an old scene, which had lain 
hid away for years in some dusty old corner of my brain, 
would come back again, and stand before me as clear 
and bri ght as if it had happened yesterday. The book has 
been a most grateful task to me, and I only hope that all 
you, my dear young friends who read it,, (friends 
assuredly you must be if you get as far as this,) will 
be half as sorry to come to the last stage as I am. 

Not but what there has been a solemn and a sad side 
to it. As the old scenes became living, and the actors 
in them became living too, many a grave in the Crimea 
and distant India, as well as in the quiet churchyards of 
our dear old country, seemed to open and send forth 
their dead, and their voices and looks and ways were 
again in one’s ears and eyes, as in the old school-days. 

873 


374 


SCHOOL MEMO LIES 


But this was not sad ; how should it be, if we believe as 
our Lord has taught us? How should it be, when one 
more turn of the wheel, and we sliall be by their sides 
again, learning from them again, perhaps, as we did 
when we were new boys? 

Then there were others of the old faces so dear to us 
once, who had somehow or another just gone clean out 
of sight — are they dead or living? We know not, but 
the thought of them brings no sadness with it. Wherever 
they are, we can well believe they are doing God’s work 
and getting His wages. 

But are there not some whom we still see sometimes 
in the streets, whose haunts and homes we know, whom 
we could probably find almost any day in the week if 
we were set to do it, yet from whom we are really farther 
than ^ve are from the dead, and from those who have 
gone out of our ken? Yes, there are and must be such; 
and therein lies the sadness of old school memories. Yet 
of these our old comrades, from whom more than time 
and space separate us, there are some, by whose sides 
we can feel sure that we shall stand again when time 
shall be no more. We may tliink of one another now 
as dangerous fanatics or narrow bigots, with whom no 
truce is possible, from whom we shall only sever more 
and more to the end of our lives, whom it would be our 
respective duties to imprison or hang if we had the 
power. We must go our wa}', and they theirs, as long 
as flesh and spirit hold together : but let our own Rugby 
poet speak words of healing for this trial:- — 

To veer how vain! on, onward strain, 

Brave barks! in light, in darkness too; 

Through winds and tides one compass guides. 

To that, and your own selves, be true. 


SCHOOL MEMOBIES 


375 


But, O blithe breeze! and O great seas, 

Though ne’er that earliest parting past, 

On your wide plain they join again, 

Together lead them home at last. 

One port, methought, alike they sought. 

One purpose hold where’er they fare. 

O bounding breeze, O rushing seas! 

At last, at last, unite them there! i 

This is not mere longing, it is prophecy. So over 
tliese too, our old friends who are friends no more, we 
sorrow not as men without hope. It is only for those 
who seem to us to have lost compass and purpose, and 
to be driven helplessly on rocks and quicksands ; whose 
lives are spent in the service of the world, the flesh, and 
the devil; for self alone, and not for their fellowmen, 
their country, or their God, that we must moum and 
pray without sure hope and without light ; trusting only 
that He, in whose hands they as well as we are, who 
has died for them as well as for us, who sees all His 
creatures 

With larger other eyes than ours. 

To make allowance .for us all, • 

will, in His own way and at His own time, lead them 
also home. 


Another two years have passed, and it is again the 
end of the summer half-year at Rugby; in fact, the 
school has broken up. The fifth-fonn examinations were’ 
over last week, and upon them have followed the speeches 
and the sixth-form examinations for exhibitions; and 
they too are over now. The boys have gone to all the 
winds of heaven, except the town boys and the eleven, 

^ Clough, Amharvalia. 


376 


TEE END OF THE HALF-YEAR 


and the few enthusiasts besides who have asked leave to 
stay in their houses to see the result of the cricket 
matches. For this year the Wellesbum return match 
and the Marylebone match are played at Rugby, to the 
great delight of the town and neighborhood, and the 
sorrow of those aspiring young cricketers who have been 
reckoning for the last three months on showing off at 
Lords’ ground. 

The Doctor started for the Lakes yesterday morning, 
after an interview with the captain of the eleven, in 
the presence of Thomas, at which he arranged in what 
school the cricket dinners were to be, and all other 
matters necessar}/ for the satisfactory carrying out of 
the festivities, and warned them as to keeping all 
spirituous liquors out of the close, and having the gates 
closed by nine o’clock. 

The Wellesbum match was played out with great 
success yesterday, the school winning by three wickets ; 
and today the great event of the cricketing year, the 
Marylebone match, is being played. What a match it 
lias been! The London eleven came down by an after- 
noon train yesterday, in time to see the end of the 
Wellesbum match; and as soon as it was over, their 
leading men and umpire inspected the ground, criticizing 
it rather unmercifully. The captain of the school eleven, 
and one or two others, who had played the Lords’ match 
before, and knew old Mr. Aislabie and several of the 
Lords’ men, accompanied them: while the rest of the 
eleven looked on from under the Three Trees with admir- 
ing eyes, and asked one another the names of the illus- 
trious strangers, and recounted how many runs each of 
them had made in the late matches in Bell’s Life. They 
looked such hard-bitten, wiry, whiskered fellows, that 
their young adversaries felt rather desponding as to the 
result of the morrow’s match. The ground was at last 


CmCKET-MATCRES IN THE SCHOOL CLOSE 377 


chosen, and two men set to work upon it to water and 
roll; and then, there being yet some half-hour of day- 
light, some one had suggested a dance on the turf. The 
close was half full of citizens and their families, and the 
idea w^as hailed with enthusiasm. The cornopean-player 
was still on the grounds; in five minutes the eleven and 
half a dozen of the Wellesburn and Marylebone men got 
partners somehow or another, and a merry country- 
dance was going on, to which every one flocked, and 
new couples joined in every minute, till there were a 
hundred of them going down the middle and up again ; 
and the long line of school buildings looked gravely 
down on them, every window glowing with the last rays 
of the western sun, and the rooks clanged about in the 
tops of the old elms, greatly excited, and resolved on 
having their country-dance too, and the great flag 
flapped lazily in the gentle w^estern breeze. Altogether 
it was a sight which would have made glad the heart 
of our brave old founder, Lawrence Sheriff, if he were 
half as good a fellow as I take him to have been. It 
was a cheerful sight to see ; but wLat made it so valuable 
in the sight of the captain of the school eleven w^as, 
that he there saw his young hands shaking off their 
shyness and awe of the Lords’ men, as they crossed 
hands and capered about on the grass together; for the 
strangers entered into it all, and threw' aw'ay their cigars, 
and danced and shouted like boys ; while old Mr. Aislabie 
stood by looking on in his w'hite hat, leaning on a bat, in 
benevolent enjoyment. “This hop wull be worth thirty 
runs to us tomorrow^ and will be the making of Haggles 
and Johnson,” thinks the young leader, as he revolves 
many things in his mind, standing by the side of Mr. 
Aislabie, whom he will not leave for a minute, for he 
feels that the character of the school for courtesy is 
resting on his shoulders. 


378 CEICKET-MATCEES IN THE SCHOOL CLOSE 

But when a quarter to nine struck, and he saw old 
Thomas beginning to fidget about with the keys in his 
hand, he thought of the Doctor’s parting monition, and 
stopped the cornopean at once, notwithstanding the loud- 
voiced remonstrances from all sides; and the crowd scat- 
tered away from the close, the eleven all going into the 
School-house, where supper and beds w’ere provided for 
them by the Doctor’s orders. 

Deep had been the consultations at supper as to the 
order of going in, who should bowl the first over, whether 
it would be best to play steady or freely; and the 
youngest hands declared that they shouldn’t be a bit 
nervous, and praised their opponents as the j oiliest fel- 
lows in the world, except perhaps their old friends the 
Wellesburn men. How far a little good-nature from 
their elders will go with the right sort of boys! 

The morning had dawned bright and warm, to the 
intense relief of many an anxious youngster, up betimes 
to mark the signs of the weather. The eleven went 
down in a body before breakfast for a plunge in the 
cold bath in the corner of the close. The ground was 
in splendid order, and soon after ten o’clock, before 
spectators had arrived, all was ready, and two of the 
Lords’ men took their places at the wicket; the school, 
with the usual liberality of young hands, having put their 
adversaries in first. Old Bailey stepped up to the wicket, 
and called play, and the match has begun. 


“Oh, well bowled! well bowled, Johnson!” cries the 
captain, catching up the ball and sending it high above 
the rook trees, while the third Marylebone man walks 
away from the wicket, and old Bailey gravely sets up 
the middle stump again and puts the bails on. 

“ How many runs ” Away scamper three boys to 


THE MARYLEBONE MATCH 37Vi 

the scoring-table, and are back again in a minute amongst 
the rest of the eleven, who are collected together in a 
knot betw een wicket. “ Only eighteen runs, and three 
wickets down!” “Huzza for old Rugby!” sings out 
Jack Haggles the long-stop, toughest and burliest of 
boys, commonly called “ Swiper Jack ; ” and forthwith 
stands on his head, and brandishes his* legs in the air 
in triumph, till the next boy catches hold of his heels, 
and throws him over on his back. 

“Steady there; don’t be such an ass. Jack,” says the 
captain ; “ we haven’t got the best wicket yet. Ah, 
look out now at cover-point,” adds he, as he sees a long- 
armed, bare-headed, slashing-looking player coming to 
the wicket. “ And, Jack, mind your hits ; he steals more 
runs than any man in England.” 

And they all find that they have got their work to do 
now'; the newcomer’s off-hitting is tremendous, and his 
running like a flash of lightning. He is never in his 
ground except when his w'icket is dow'n. Nothing in the 
whole game so trying to boys; he has stolen three byes 
in the first ten minutes, and Jack Haggles is furious, and 
begins throwing over savagely to the further wicket, 
until he is sternly stopped by the captain. It is all that 
young gentleman can do to keep his team steady, but 
he knows that everything depends on it, and faces his 
w'ork bravely. The score creeps up to fifty, the boys 
begin to look blank, and the spectators, who are now 
mustering strong, are very silent. The ball flies off his 
bat to all parts of the field, and he gives no rest and no 
catches to any one. But cricket is full of glorious 
chances, and the goddess who presides over it loves to 
bring down the most skillful players. Johnson the young 
bowler is getting wild, and bowls a ball almost wide to 
the off; the batter steps out and cuts it beautifully to 
where cover-point is standing very deep, in fact almost 


380 


TRE MAEYLEBONE MATCH 


off* the ground. The ball comes skimming and twisting 
along about three feet from the ground; he rushes at it, 
and it sticks somehow or other in the fingers of his left 
hand, to the utter astonishment of himself and the whole 
field. Such a catch hasn’t been made in the close for 
years, and the cheering is maddening. “ Pretty cricket,” 
says the captain, throwing himself on the ground by the 
deserted wicket with a long breath; he feels that a crisis 
has passed. ‘ 

I wish I had space to describe the whole match; how 
the captain stumped the next man off a leg-shooter, and 
bowled slow cobs to old Mr. Aislabie, who came in for the 
last wicket ; how the Lords’ men w’^ere out by half-past 
twelve o’clock for ninety-eight runs; how the captain 
of the school eleven went in first to give his men pluck, 
and scored twenty-five in beautiful style; how Rugby was 
only four behind in the first innings; what a glorious 
dinner they had in the fourth-form school, and how the 
cover-point hitter sang the most topping comic songs, 
and old Mr. Aislabie made the best speeches tliat ever 
were heard, afterwards. But I haven’t space, that’s the 
fact, and so you must fancy it all, and carry yourselves 
on to half-past seven o’clock, when the school are again 
in, with five wickets down and only thirty-two runs to 
make to win. The Marylebone men pia3'ed carelessly in 
their second innings, but they are working like horses 
now to save the match. 

There is much health}^, hearty, happy life scattered 
up and down the close ; but the group to which I beg 
to call your especial attention is there, on the slope of 
the island, which looks toward the cricket-ground. It 
consists of three figures; two are seated on a bench, and 
one on the ground at their feet. The first, a tall, slight, 
and rather gaunt man, with a bushy eyebrow and a drv 
humorous smile, is evidently a clergyman. He is care- 


SOME OLD FEIENDS 


381 


lessly dressed, and looks rather used up, which isn’t mucli 
to be wondered at, seeing that he has just finished six 
weeks of examination work; but there he basks, and 
spreads himself out in the evening sun, bent on enjoy- 
ing life, though he doesn’t quite know what to do with 
his arms and legs. Surely it is our friend the young 
master, whom we have had glimpses of before, but his 
face has gained a great deal since we last came across 
him. 

And by his side, in white flannel shirt and trousers, 
straw hat, the captain’s belt, and the untanned yellow 
cricket shoes which all the eleven wear, sits a strapping 
figure, near six feet high, with ruddy tanned face and 
whiskers, curly brown hair and a laughing, dancing eye. 
He is leaning forward with his elbows resting on his 
knees, and dandling his favorite bat, with which he has 
made thirty or forty runs today, in his strong brown 
hands. It is Tom Brown, grown into a young man 
nineteen years old, a prjcpostor and captain of the eleven, 
spending bis last day as a Rugby boy, and let us hope 
as much wiser as he is bigger since we last had the 
pleasure of coming across him. 

And at their feet on the warm ground, similarly 
dressed, sits Arthur, Turkish fashion, with his bat across 
his knees. He, too, is no longer a boy, less of a boy in 
fact than Tom, if one may judge from the thoughtful- 
ness of his face, which is somewhat paler too than one 
could wish; but his figure, though slight, is well knit 
and active, and all his old timidi^y has disappeared, and 
is replaced by silent quaint fun, with which his face 
twinkles all over, as he listens to the broken talk between 
the other two, in which he joins every now and then. 

All three are watching the game eagerly, and joining 
in the cheering which follows every good hit. It is pleas- 
ing to see the easy, friendly footing which the pupils are 


382 


SOME OLD FRIENDS 


on with their master; perfectly respectful, yet with no 
reserve, and nothing forced in their intercourse. Tom 
has clearly abandoned the old theory of “ natural 
enemies ” in this case at any rate. 

But it is time to listen to what they are saying, and 
see what we can gather out of it. 

“I don’t object to your theory,” says the master, 
“ and I allow you have made a fair case for yourself. But 
now, in such books as Aristophanes for instance, you’ve 
been reading a play this half with the Doctor, haven't 
you ? ” 

“Yes, the Knights,” answered Tom. 

“Well, I’m sure you would have enjoyed the won- 
derful humor of it twice as much if you had taken m.ore 
pains with your scholarship.” 

“Well, sir, I don’t believe any boy in the form enjoyed 
the sets-to between Cleon and the Sausage-seller more 
than I did — eh, Arthur said Tom, giving him a stir 
with his foot. 

“Yes, I must say he did,” said Arthur. “I think, 
sir, you’ve hit upon the wrong book there.” 

“Not a bit of it,” said the master. “Why, in those 
xcry passages of arms, liow can you thoroughly appre- 
ciate them unless you arc master of the weapons.^ and 
the weapons arc the language, which you. Brown, liave 
never half worked at; and so, as I say, you must liave 
lost all the delicate shades of meaning which make the 
best part of the fun.” 

“ Oh ! well played — bravo, Johnson ! ” shouted Arthur, 
dropping his bat and clapping furiously, and Tom 
joined in with a “bravo, Johnson!” which might have 
been heard at the chapel. 

“Eh! what was it.^ I didn’t sec,” inquired the mas- 
ter; “they only got one run, I thought?” 

“ No, but such a ball, three-quarters length, and com- 


AND THE IB TALK 


183 


ing straight for his leg bail. Nothing but that turn of 
the wrist could have saved him, and he drew it away to 
leg for a safe one. Bravo, Johnson!” 

“ How well they are bowling, though,” said Arthur ; 
‘‘ they don’t mean to be beat, I can see.” 

“ There now,” struck in the master, “ you see that’s 
just what I have been preaching this half-hour. The 
delicate play is the true thing. I don’t understand 
cricket, so I don’t enjoy those fine draws which ^"ou tell 
me are the best play, though when you or Haggles hit 
a ball hard away for six I am delighted as any one. 
Don’t you see the analogy.^” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Tom, looking up roguishly, “I 
see : only the question remains whether I should have 
got most good by understanding Greek particles or 
cricket thoroughly. I’m such a thick, I never should 
have had time for both.” 

“ 1 see you are an incorrigible,” said the master with a 
chuckle; “but I refute you by an example. Arthur there 
has taken in Greek and cricket too.” 

“Yes, but no thanks to him; Greek came natural to 
him. Why, when he first came I remember he used to 
read Herodotus for pleasure as I did Don Quixote, and 
couldn’t have made a false concord if he’d tried ever so 
hard — and then I looked after his cricket.” 

“Out! Bailey has given him out — do you see, 
Tom.?” cries Arthur. “How foolish of them to run so 
hard.” 

“Well, it can’t be helped, he has played very well. 
Whose turn is it to go in .? ” • 

“I don’t know; they’ve got your list in the tent.” 

“Let’s go and see,” said Tom, rising; but at this 
moment Jack Haggles and two or three more came run- 
ning to the island moat. 

“ Oh, Brown, mayn’t T go in next ? ” shouts the Swiper. 


384 


SOME OLD FBI ENDS 


“Whose name is next on the list?” says the captain. 

“ Winter’s and then Arthur’s,” answers the boy who 
carries it; “but there are only twenty-six runs to get, 
and no time to lose. I heard Mr. Aislabie say that the 
stumps must be drawn at a quarter past eight exactly.” 

“ Oh, do let the Swiper go in,” chorus the boys ; so 
Tom yields against his better judgment. 

“ I dare say now I’ve lost the match by this non- 
sense,” he says, as he sits down again ; “ they’ll be sure ^ 
to get Jack’s wicket in three or four minutes; how^ever, - 
you’ll have the chance, sir, of seeing a hard hit or two,’^ 
adds he smiling, and turning to the master. *11 

“ Come, none of your irony. Brown,” answers the mas- 
ter. “ I’m beginning to understand the game sci en- .{ 
tifically. What a noble game it is too!” 

“Isn’t it? But it’s more than a game. It’s an insti- ^ 
tution,” said Tom. 

“Yes,” said Arthur, “the birthright of British boysj 
old and ^mung, as habeas corpus and trial by jury are of 1 | 
British men.” ^ 

“ The discipline and reliance on one another which it | 
teaches is so valuable, I think,” went on the master, “ it ^ 
ought to be such an unselfisli game. It merges the indi- 
vidual in the eleven ; he doesn’t play that he may win, but 
that his side may.” i 

“That’s very true,” said Tom, “and that’s whv foot- I 
ball and cricket, now one comes to think of it, are such ' 
much better games than lives’ or hare-and-hounds, or any J 
others where the object is to come in first or t6 win for 1 
oneself, and not that one’s side may win.” 

“ And then' the captain of the eleven ; ” said the mas- 
ter, “ what a post is his in our school world ! almost as 
hard as the Doctor’s; requiring skill and gentleness and 
finmmss, and I know not what other rare qualities.” 

“Winch don’t he wisli lic may get?” said Tom, n 


AND THEIR TALK 


385 


laughing ; “ at any rate he hasn’t got them yet, or he 
wouldn’t have been such a flat tonight as to let Jack 
Haggles go in out of his turn.” 

“Ah! the Doctor never would have done that,” said 
Arthur demurely. “Tom, you’ve a great deal to learn 
yet in the art of ruling.” 

“Well, I wish you’d tell the Doctor so, then, and get 
him to let me stop till I’m twenty. I don’t want to leave, 
I’m sure.” 

“ What a sight it is,” broke in the master, “ the Doc- 
tor as a ruler. Perhaps ours is the only little corner of 
the British Empire which is thoroughly, wisely, and 
strongly ruled just now. I’m more and more thankful 
every day of my life that I came here to be under him.” 

“ So am I, I’m sure,” said Tom; “and more and more 
sorry that I’ve got to leave.” 

“ Every place and thing one sees here remind one of 
some wise act of his,” went on the master. “ This island 
now — ^you remember the time, Brown, when it was laid 
out in small gardens, and cultivated by frost-bitten fags 
in Februar}^ and March.?” 

“Of course I do,” said Tom; “didn’t I hate spending 
tw'o hours in the afternoons grubbing in the tough dirt 
with the stump of a fives’-bat.? But turf-cart was good 
fun enough.” 

“ I dare say it was, but it was always leading to fights 
with the townspeople; and then the stealing flowers out 
of all the gardens in Rugby for the Easter show was 
abominable.” 

“Well, so it was,” said Tom, looking down, “but we 
fags couldn’t help ourselves. But what has that to do 
with the Doctor’s ruling.?” 

“ A great deal, I think,” said the ' master ; “ what 
brought island-fagging to an end.?” 

“Why, the Easter speeches were put off till mid-sum- 


386 


JACK BAGGLES’ INNINGS 


mer,” said Tom, “ and the sixth had the gymnastic poles 
put up here.” 

“Well, and who changed the time of the speeches, and 
put the idea of gymnastic poles into the heads of their 
worships the sixth form.? ” said the master. 

“The Doctor, I suppose,” said Tom. “I never 
thought of that.” 

“ Of course you didn’t,” said the master, “ or else, 
fag as you were, you would have shouted with the whole 
school against putting down old customs. And that’s 
the way that all the Doctor’s reforms have been carried 
out when he has been left to himself — quietly and natu- 
rally, putting a good thing in the place of a bad, and 
letting the bad die out; no wavering and no hurry — 
the best thing that could be done for the time being, and 
patience for the rest.” 

“Just Tom’s own way,” chimed in Arthur, nudging 
Tom with his elbow, “ driving a nail where it will go ; ” 
to which allusion Tom answered by a sly kick. 

“ Exactly so,” said the master, innocent of the allusion 
and by-play. 

Meantime, Jack Haggles, with his sleeves tucked up 
above his great brown elbows, scorning pads and gloves, 
has presented himself at the wicket ; and having run one 
for a forward drive of Johnson’s, is about to receive his 
first ball. There are only twenty-four runs to make, and 
four wickets to go down; a winning match if they pla}" 
decently steady. The ball is a very swift one, and rises 
fast, catching Jack on the outside of the thigh, and 
bounding away as if from india-rubber, while they run 
two for a leg-bye amidst great applause and shouts from 
Jack’s many admirers. The next ball is a beautifully 
pitched ball for the outer stump, which the reckless and 
unfeeling Jack catches hold of, and hits right round to 
leg for five, while the applause becomes deafening; only 


THE FINISH 


387 


seventeen runs to get with four wickets — the game is 
all but ours ! 

It is over now, and Jack walks swaggering about his 
wicket, with the bat over his shoulder, while Mr. Aislabie 
holds a short parley with his men. Then the cover-point 
hitter, that cunning man, goes on to bowl slow twisters. 
Jack waves his hand triumphantly toward the tent, as 
much as to say, “ See if I don’t finish it all off now in 
three hits.” 

Alas, my son Jack ! the enemy is too old for thee. The 
first ball of the over Jack steps out and meets, swiping 
with all his force. If he had only allowed for the twist! 
but he hasn’t, and so the ball goes spinning up straight 
into the air, as if it would never come down again. Away 
runs Jack, shouting and trusting to the chapter of acci- 
dents, but the bowler runs steadily under it, judging 
ever}^ spin, and calling out “ I have it,” catches it, and 
playfully pitches it on to the back of the stalwart Jack, 
who is departing with a rueful countenance. 

“ I knew how it would be,” says Tom, rising. “ Come 
along, the game’s getting very serious.” 

So they leave the island and go to the tent, and after 
deep consultation Arthur is sent in, and goes off to the 
wicket with a last exhortation from Tom to play steady 
and keep his bat straight. To the suggestions that Win- 
ter is the best bat left, Tom only replies, “Arthur is the 
steadiest, and Johnson will make the runs if the wicket 
is only kept up.” 

“ I am surprised to see Arthur in the eleven,” said the 
master, as they stood together in front of the dense 
crowd, which was now closing in round the ground. 

“ Well, I’m not quite sure that he ought to be in for 
his play,” said Tom, “but I couldn’t help putting him 
in. It will do him so much good, and you can’t think 
what I owe him.” 


388 


TEE FINISH 


The master smiled. The clock strikes eight, and the 
whole field becomes feA^ered with excitement. Arthur, 
after two narrow escapes, scores one, and Johnson gets 
the ball. The bowling and fielding are superb, and John- 
son’s batting worthy the occasion. He makes here a two, 
and there a one, managing to keep the ball to himself, 
and Arthur backs up and runs perfectly: only eleven 
runs to make now, and the crowd scarcely breathe. At 
last Arthur gets the ball again, and actually drives it 
forward for two, and feels prouder than when he got 
the three best prizes, at hearing Tom’s shout of joy, 
“Well played, well played, young un!” 

But the next ball is too much for a young hand, and 
his bails fly different wa^'^s. Nine runs to make, and two 
Avickets to go down — it is too much for human nerves. 

Before Winter can get in, the omnibus which is to take 
the Lords’ men to the train pulls up at the side of the 
close, and iVIr. Aislabie and Tom consult, and give out 
that the stumps will be drawn after the next over. And 
so ends the great match. Winter and Johnson carry out 
their bats, and, it being a one day’s match, the Lords’ 
men are declared the Avinners, they having scored the 
most in the first innings. 

But such a defeat is a victory: so think Tom and all 
the school eleven, as the}^ accompany their conquerors to 
the omnibus, and send them off wdth three ringing cheers, 
after Mr. Aislabie has shaken hands all round, saying to 
Tom, “ I must compliment you, sir, on your eleven, and 
I hope Ave shall have you for a member if you come up 
to town.” 

As Tom and the rest of the eleven were turning back 
into the close, and everybody Avas beginning to cry out 
for another country-dance, encouraged by the success of 
the night before, the young master, wLo Avas just leaving 
the close, stopped him, and asked him to cbme up to tea 


SHUT OUT 


389 


at half-past eight, adding, “ I won’t keep you more than 
half an hour, and ask Arthur to come up too.” 

“ I’ll come up with you directly, if you’ll let me,” said 
Tom, “for I feel rather melancholy, and not quite up to 
the country-dance and supper with the rest.” 

“ Do by all means,” said the master ; “ I’ll wait here 
for you.” 

So Tom went off to get his boots and things from the 
tent, to tell Arthur of the invitation, and to speak to 
his second in command about stopping the dancing and 
shutting up the close as soon as it grew dusk. Arthur 
promised to follow as soon as he had had a dance. So 
Tom handed his things over to the man in charge of the 
tent, and walked quietly away to the gate where the 
master was waiting, and the two took their way together 
up the Hillmorton-road. 

Of course they found the master’s house locked up 
and all the servants away in the close, about this time no 
doubt footing it aw^ay on the grass with extreme delight 
to themselves, and in utter oblivion of the unfortunate 
bachelor their master, whose one enjoyment in the shape 
of meals was his “dish of tea” (as our grandmothers 
called it) in the evening; and the phrase was apt in his 
;case, for he always poured his out into the saucer before 
drinking. Great was the good man’s horror at finding 
himself shut out of his own house. Had he been alone, 
he would have treated it as a matter of course, and would 
have strolled contentedly up and down his gravel walk 
until some one came home; but he was hurt at the stain 
on his character of host, especially as the guest was a 
pupil. However, the guest seemed to think it a great 
joke, and presently, as they poked about round the 
house, mounted a wall, from which he could reach a pas- 
sage window: the window, as it turned out, was not 
bolted, so in another minute Tom was in the house and 


390 


EOW TREY GOT IN 


down at the front door, which he opened from inside. 
The master chuckled grimly at this burglarious entry, 
and insisted on leaving the hall-door and two of the front 
windows open, to frighten the truants on their return; 
and then the two set about foraging for tea, in which 
operation the master was much at fault, having the 
faintest possible idea of where to find anything, and 
being moreover wondrously short-sighted; but Tom by 
a sort of instinct knew the right cupboards in the kitchen 
and pantry, and soon managed to place on the snuggery 
table better materials for a meal than had appeared there 
probably during the reign of his tutor, who was then 
and there initiated, amongst other things, into the excel- 
lence of that mysterious condiment, a dripping-cake . j 
T he cake was newly baked, and all rich and flaky; Tom 
had found it reposing in the cook’s private cupboard, 
awaiting her return ; and as a warning to her, they 
finished it to the last crumb. The kettle sang away mer- 
rily on the hob of the snuggery, for, notwithstanding 
the time of year, they lighted a fire, throwing both the 
windows wide open at the same time ; the heap of books 
and papers were pushed away to the other end of the 
table, and the great solitary engraving of King’s Col- 
lege Chapel over the mantelpiece looked less stiff than 
usual, as they settled themselves down in the twilight to 
the serious drinking of tea. 

After some talk on the match and other indifferent 
subjects, the conversation came naturally back to Tom’s 
approaching departure, over w^hich he began again to 
make his moan. 

‘‘Well, w^e shall all miss you quite as much as you will 
miss us,” said the master. “You are the Nestor of the 
school now, are you not.^ ” 

“Yes, ever since East left,” answered Tom. 

“By the bye, have you heard from him.? ” 


EAREY EAST 


391 


“ Yes, I had a letter in February, just before he started 
for India to join his regiment.” 

“ He will make a capital officer.” 

‘‘Ay, won’t he!” said Tom, brightening; “no fellow 
could handle boys better, and I suppose soldiers are very 
like boys. And he’ll never tell them to go where he won’t 
go himself. No mistake about that — a braver fellow 
never walked.” 

“ His year in the sixth will have taught him a good 
deal that will be useful to him now.” 

“ So it will,” said Tom, staring into the fire. “ Poor 
dear Harry,” he went on, “ how well I remember the day 
we were put out of the twenty. How he rose to the 
situ-ation, and burnt his cigar-cases, and gave away* his 
pistols, and pondered on the constitutional authority of 
the sixth, and his new duties to the Doctor, and the fifth 
form, and the f^gs. Ay, and no fellow ever acted up to 
them better, though he was always a people’s man — for 
the fags, and against constituted authorities. He 
couldn’t help that, you know. I’m sure the Doctor must 
have liked him ? ” said Tom looking up inquiringly. 

“ The Doctor sees the good in every one, and appre- 
ciates it,” said the master dogmatically; “but I hope 
East will get a good colonel. He won’t do if he can’t 
respect those above him. How long it took him, even 
here, to learn the lesson of obeying.” 

“Well, I wish I were alongside of him,” said Tom. 
“ If I can’t be at Rugby, I want to be at work in the 
world, and not dawdling away three years at Oxford.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ at work in the world ’ ? ” said 
the master, pausing, with his lips close to his saucerful 
of tea, and peering at Tom over it. 

“Well, I mean real work; one’s profession; whatever 
one will have really to do, and make one’s living by. I 
want to be doing some real good, feeling that I am not 


392 


WOEK IN THE WORLD ^ 


only at play in the world,” answered Tom, rather puz- 
zled to find out himself what he really did mean. 

“You are mixing up two very different things in your 
head, I think. Brown,” said the master, putting down 
the empty saucer, “ and you ought to get clear about 
them. You talk of ‘working to get your living’ and 
‘doing some real good in the world’ in the same breath. 
Now, you may be getting a very good living in a pro- 
fession, and yet doing no good at all in the world, but 
quite the contrary, at the same time. Keep the latter 
before you as your one object, and you will be right, 
whether you make a living or not; but if you dwell on 
the other, you’ll very likely drop into mere money-mak- 
ing? and let the world take care of itself for good or 
evil. Don’t be in a hurry about finding your work in 
the w'orld for yourself, you are not old enough to judge 
for yourself yet; but just look about you in the place 
you find yourself in, and try to make things a little bet- 
ter and honester there. You’ll find plenty to keep your 
hand in at Oxford, or wherever else you go. And don’t 
be led away to think this part of the world important, 
and that unimportant. Every corner of the world is 
important. No man knows whether this part or that is 
most so, but every man may do some honest work in his 
own corner.” And then the good man w'ent on to talk 
w isely to Tom of the sort of w^ork which he might take 
up as an undergraduate; and warned him of the preva- 
lent university sins, and explained to him the many and 
great differences betw^een university and school life ; till 
the twilight changed into darkness, and they heard the 
truant servants stealing in by the back entrance. 

“ I wonder where Arthur can be,” said Tom at last, 
looking at his watch; “why, it’s nearly half-past nine 
already.” 

“ Oh, he is comfortably at supper with the eleven, for- 


WORK IN THE WORLD 


393 


getful of his oldest friends,” said the master. “Nothing 
has given me greater pleasure,” he went on, “ than your 
friendship for him ; it has been the making of you both.” 

“ Of me, at any rate,” answered Tom ; “ I should 
never have been here now but for him. It was the 
luckiest chance in the world that sent him to Rugby, 
and made him my chum.” 

“Why do you talk of lucky chances.'”’ said the mas- 
ter ; “ I don’t know that there are any such things in the 
world ; at any rate there was neither luck nor chance in 
that matter.” 

Tom looked at him inquiringly, and he went on. “ Do 
you remember when the Doctor lectured you and East 
at the end of one half-year, when you were in the shell, 
and had been getting into all sorts of scrapes.?” 

“Yes, well enough,” said Tom; “it was the half-year 
before Arthur came.” 

“Exactly so,” answered the master. “Now, I was 
with him a few minutes afterwards, and he was in great 
distress about you tw^o. And, after some talk, w'e both 
agreed that you in particular w^anted some object in the 
school beyond games and mischief ; for it was quite clear 
that you never would make the regular school work your 
first object. And so the Doctor, at the beginning of 
the next half-year, looked out the best of the new boys, 
and separated you and East, and put the young boy into 
your study, in the hope that when you had somebody to 
lean on you, you would begin to stand a little steadier 
yourself, and get manliness and thoughtfulness. And 
I can assure you he has w'atched the experiment ever 
since with great satisfaction. Ah ! not one of you boys 
will ever know the anxiety you have given him, or the 
care with which he has watched over every step in your 
school lives.” 

Up to this time Tom had never w^holly given in to or 


394 


TRE DOCTOR’S WORK 


understood the Doctor. At first he had thoroughly 
feared him. For some years, as I have tried to show, he 
had learned to regard him with love and respect, and to 
think him a very great and wise and good man. But, 
as regarded his own position in the school, of which he 
was no little proud, Tom had no idea of giving any one 
credit for it but himself ; and, truth to tell, was a very 
self-conceited young gentleman on the subject. He was 
wont to boast that he had fought his own way fairly up 
the school, and had never made up to or been taken up 
by any big fellow' or master, and that it was now' quite a 
different place from what it was when he first came. 
And, indeed, though he didn’t actually boast of it, yet in 
his secret soul he did to a great extent believe^ that the 
great reform in the school had been owing quite as much 
to himself as to any one else. Arthur, he acknow'ledged, 
had done him good, and taught him a good deal, so had 
other boys in different ways, but they had not had the 
same means of influence on the school in general; and 
as for the Doctor, why, he w'as a splendid master, but 
every one knew that masters could do very little out of 
school hours. In short, he felt on terms of equality with 
his chief so far as the social state of the school w'as con- 
cerned, and thought that the Doctor would find it no 
easy matter to get on without him. Moreover, his school 
Toryism was still strong, and he looked still with some 
jealousy on the Doctor, as somewhat of a fanatic in the 
matter of change, and thought it very desirable for the 
school that he should have some w'ise person (such as 
himself) to look sharply after vested school rights, and 
see that nothing was done to the injury of the republic 
without due protest. 

It w'gts a new' light to him to find, that, besides teach- 
ing the sixth, and governing and guiding the whole 
.school, editing classics, and waiting histories, the great 


EEBO-WOESHIP 


395 


head-master had found time in those busy years to watch 
over the career, even of him, Tom Brown, and his par- 
ticular friends, — and, no doubt, of fifty other boys at 
the same time ; and all this without taking the least credit 
to himself, or seeming to know, or let any one else know, 
that he ever thought particularly of any boy at all. 

How^ever, the Doctor’s victory was complete from that 
moment over Tom Brown at any rate. He gave way at 
all points, and the enemy marched right over him, 
cavalry, infantry, and artillery, the land transport corps, 
and the camp followers. It had taken eight long years 
I to do it, but now it was done thoroughly, and there 
wasn’t a corner of him left which didn’t believe in the 
Doctor. Had he returned to school again, and the Doc- 
tor begun the half-year by abolishing fagging, and 
football, and the Saturday half-holiday, or all or any of 
the most cherished school institutions, Tom would have 
supported him with the blindest faith. And so, after a 
half confession of his previous shortcomings, and sor- 
rowful adieus to his tutor, from w'hom he received two 
beautifully bound volumes of the Doctor’s Sermons, as 
a parting present, he marched down to the' School-house, 
a hero-worshiper, who would have satisfied the soul of 
Thomas Carlyle himself. 

There he found the eleven at high jinks after supper, 
Jack Haggles shouting comic songs and performing 
feats of strength, and was greeted by a chorus of 
mingled remonstrance at his desertion and joy at his 
reappearance. And, falling in with the humor of the 
evening, was soon as great a boy as all the rest : and at 
ten o’clock was chaired round the quadrangle, on one of 
the hall benches borne aloft by the eleven, shouting in 
chorus: “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” while old 

Thomas, in a melting mood, and the other School-house 
servants, stood looking on. 


396 


GOOD BYE TO RUGBY 


And the next morning after breakfast he squared up| 
all the cricketing accounts, went round to his tradesmeii 
and other acquaintance, and said his hearty good-byes; 
and by twelve o’clock was in the train and away for 
London, no longer a school-boy, and divided in his 
thoughts between hero-worship, honest regrets over the 
long stage of his life which was now slipping out of 
sight behind him, and hopes and resolves for the next 
stage, upon which he was entering with all the confidence 
of a young traveler. 


CHAPTER IX 


FINIS 

Strange friend, past, present, and to be; 

Loved deeplier, darklier understood; 

Behold, I dream a dream of good, 

And mingle all the world with thee. 

Tennyson. 

In the summer of 1842 our hero stopped once again 
at the well-known station : and, leaving his bag and fish- 
ing-rod with a porter, walked slowdj and sadly up 
toward the town. It was now July. He had rushed 
away from Oxford the moment that term was over for 
a fishing ramble in Scotland with two college friends, 
and had been for three weeks living on oatcake, mutton- 
hams, and whiskey, in the wildest parts of Skye. They 
had descended one sultry evening on the little inn at 
Kyle Rhea ferry, and while Tom and another of the 
party put their tackle together and began exploring the 
stream for a sea-trout for supper, the third strolled into 
the house to arrange for their entertainment. Presently 
he came out in a loose blouse and slippers, a short pipe 
in his mouth, and an old newspaper in his hand, and 
threw himself on the heathery scrub which met the 
shingle, within easy hail of the fishermen. There he lay, 
the picture of free-and-easy, loafing, hand-to-mouth 
young England, “ improving his mind,” as he shouted to 
them, by the perusal of the fortnight-old weekly paper, 
soiled with the marks of toddy glasses and tobacco ashes, 
the legacy of the last traveler, which ho had hunted out 

.397 


398 


FINIS 


from the kitchen of the little hostelry; and, being a 
youth of a communicative turn of mind, began impart- 
ing the contents to the fishermen as he went on. 

“ What a bother they are making about these wretched 
Corn-laws; here’s three or four columns full of nothing 
but sliding-scales and fixed duties. — Hang this tobacco^ 
it’s always going out! Ah, here’s something better, a 
splendid match between Kent and England, Brown 1 
Kent winning by three wickets; Felix fifty-six runs with- 
out a chance, and not out I ” 

Tom, intent on a fish which had risen at him twice, 
answered only with a grunt. 

“ Anything about the Goodwood ? ” called out the 
third man. 

“ Rory-o-More drawn. Butterfly colt amiss,” shouted 
the student. 

“Just my luck,” grumbled the inquirer, jerking his 
flies off the water, and throwing again with a heavy 
sullen splash, and frightening Tom’s fish. 

“I say, can’t you throw lighter over there w’e ain’t 
fishing for grampuses,” shouted Tom across the stream. 

“Hullo, Brown! here’s something for you,” called out 
the reading man next moment. “ Why, your old master, 
Arnold of Rugby, is dead.” 

Tom’s hand stopped half-way in his cast, and his line 
and flies went all tangling round and round his rod ; you 
might have knocked him over with a feather. Neither 
of his companions took any notice of him, luckily ; and 
with a violent eff*ort he set to work mechanically to dis- 
entangle his line. He felt completely carried off his 
moral and intellectual legs, as if he had lost his standing- 
point in the invisible world. Besides which, the deep 
loving loyalty which he felt for his old leader made the 
shock intensely painful. It was the first great wrench 
of his life, the first gap which the angel Death had made 


FINIS 


399 


in his circle, and he felt numbed, and beaten down, and 
spiritless. Well, well! I believe it was good for him and 
for many others in like case; who had to learn by that 
loss that the soul of man cannot stand or lean upon any 
human prop, however strong, and wise, and good; but 
that He upon whom alone it can stand and lean will 
knock away all such props in His own wise and merciful 
way, until there is no ground or stay left but Himself, 
the Rock of Ages, upon whom alone a sure foundation 
for every soul of man is laid. 

As he wearily labored at his line, the thought struck 
him, “ It may all be false, a mere newspaper lie,” and he 
strode up to the recumbent smoker. 

“Let me look at the paper,” said he. 

“ Nothing else in it,” answered the other, handing it 
up to him listlessly. — “ Hullo, Brown ! what’s the matter, 
old fellow — ain’t you well.^” 

“Where is it.^” said Tom, turning over the leaves, 
his hands trembling, and his eyes swimming, so that he 
could not read. 

“ What.^ What are you looking for.^^ ” said his friend, 
jumping up and looking over his shoulder. 

“That — about Arnold,” said Tom. 

“ Oh, here,” said the other, putting his finger on the 
paragraph. Tom read it over and over again; there 
could be no mistake of identity, though the account was 
short enough. 

“Thank you,” said he at last, dropping the^ paper, 
“ I shall go for a walk: don’t you and Herbert wait sup- 
per for me.” And away he strode, up over the moor at 
the back of the house, to be alone, and master his grief 
if possible. 

His friend looked after him, sympathizing and won- 
dering, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, walked 
over to Herbert. After a short parley, they walked 
together up to the house. 


400 


FINIS 


“I’m afraid that confounded newspaper has spoiled 
Brown’s fun for this trip.” 

“How odd that he should be so fond of his old mas- 
ter,” said Herbert. Yet they also were both public- 
school men. 

The two, however, notwithstanding Tom’s prohibition, 
waited supper for him, and had everything ready when 
he came back some half an hour afterwards. But he 
could not join in their cheerful talk, and the party was 
soon silent, notwithstanding the efforts of all three. One 
thing only had Tom resolved, and that was, that he 
couldn’t stay in Scotland any longer; he felt an irresisti- 
ble longing to get to Rugby, and then home, and soon 
broke it to the others, who had too much tact to oppose. 

So by daylight the next morning he was marching 
through Ross-shire, and in the evening hit the Cale- 
donian canal, took the next steamer, and traveled as 
fast as boat and railway could carry him to the Rugby 
station. 

As he walked up to the town he felt shy and afraid 
t)f being seen, and took the back streets ; why, he didn’t 
know, but he followed his instinct. At the school gates 
he made a dead pause ; there was not a soul in the quad- 
rangle — all was lonely, and silent, and sad. So with 
another effort he strode through the quadrangle and into 
the School-house offices. 

He found the little matron in her room in deep mourn- 
ing, shook her hand, tried to talk, and moved nervously 
about: she was evidently thinking of the same subject 
as he, but he couldn’t begin talking. 

“ Where shall I find Thomas ? ” said he at last, getting 
desperate. 

“ In the servants’ hall, I think, sir. But won’t you 
take anything.?^” said the matron, looking rather dis- 
appointed. 


FINIS 


401 


“ No, thank you,” said he, and strode off again to find 
the old verger, who was sitting in his little den as of old, 
puzzling over hieroglyphics. 

He looked up through his spectacles as Tom seized his 
hand and wrung it. 

“ Ah ! you’ve heard all about it, sir, I see,” said he. 

Tom nodded, and then sat down on the shoe-board 
while the old man told his tale, and wiped his spectacles, 
and fairly flowed over with quaint, homely, honest sorrow. 

By the time he had done Tom felt much better. 

“Where is he buried, Thomas.^” said he at last. 

“ Under the altar in the chapel sir,” answered Thomas. 
“ You’d like to have the key, I dare say.” 

“ Thank you, Thomas — yes, I should very much.” 
And the old man fumbled among his bunch, and then got 
up as though he would go with him; but after a few 
steps stopped short, and said, “ Perhaps you’d like to go 
by yourself, sir ? ” 

Tom nodded, and the bunch of keys was handed to 
him, with an injunction to be sure and lock the door 
after him, and bring them back before eight o’clock. 

He walked quickly through the quadrangle and out 
into the close. The longing which had be6n upon him 
and driven him thus far, like the gadfly in the Greek 
legends, giving him no rest in mind or body, seemed all 
of a sudden not to be satisfied, but to shrivel up and pall. 
“Why should I go on.? It’s no use,” he thought, and 
threw himself at full length on the turf, and looked 
vaguely and listlessly at all the well-known objects. 
There were a few of the town boys playing cricket, their 
wicket pitched on the best piece iii the middle of the big- 
side ground, a sin about equal to sacrilege in the eyes of 
a captain of the eleven. He was very nearly getting up 
to go and send them off. “ Pshaw ! they won’t remember 
me. They’ve more right there than I,” he muttered. 


402 


FINIS 


And the thought that his scepter had departed, and his 
mark was wearing out, came home to him for tlie first 
time, and bitterly enough. He was lying on the very 
spot wdiere the fights came off ; w'here he himself had 
fought six years ago his first and last battle. He con- 
jured up the scene till he could almost hoar the shouts 
of the ring, and East’s whisper in his ear; arid looking 
across the close to the Doctor’s private door, half 
expected to see it open, and the tall figure in cap and 
gown come striding under the elm-trees toward him. 

No, no ! that sight could never be seen again. There 
was no flag flying on the round tower; the School-house 
windows were all shuttered up : and when the flag went 
up again, and the shutters came down, it would be to 
welcome a stranger. All that was left on earth of him 
whom he had honored was lying cold and still under the 
chapel floor. He would go in and see the place once 
more, and then leave it once for all. New men and new 
methods might do for other people; let those who w'ould 
worship the rising star; he at least would be faithful to 
the sun which had set. And so he got up, and walked 
to the chapel door and unlocked it, fancying himself the 
only mourner in all the broad land, and feeding on his 
own selfish sorrow. 

He passed through the vestibule, and then paused for 
a moment to glance over the empty benches. His heart 
was still proud and high, and he walked up to the seat 
which he had last occupied as a sixth-form boy, and sat 
himself down there to collect his thoughts. 

And, truth to tell, they needed collecting and setting 
in order not a little. The memories of eight years w^ere 
all dancing through his brain, and carrying him about 
whither they would ; while beneath them all, his heart 
was throbbing with the dull sense of a loss that could 
never be made up to him. The rays of the evening sun 


FINIS 


403 


came solemnly through the painted windows above his 
head, and fell in gorgeous colors on the opposite wall, 
and the perfect stillness soothed his spirit by little and 
little. And he turned to the pulpit, and looked at it, 
and then, leaning forward with his head on his hands, 
groaned aloud. “ If he could only have seen the Doctor 
again for oUe five minutes, have told him all that was in 
his heart, what he owed to Inm, how he loved and rever- 
enced him, and would by God’s help follow his steps in 
life and death, he could have borne it all without a mur- 
mur. But that he should have gone away forever with- 
out knowing it all w'as too much to bear.” “ But am I 
sure that he does not know it all.^” The thought made 
him start. “ May he not even now be near me, in this 
very chapel.^ If lie be, am I sorrowing as he would have 
me sorrow — as I should wish to have sorrowed when I 
shall meet him again ? ” 

He raised himself up and looked round; and after a 
minute rose and walked humbly down to the lowest bench, 
and sat down on the very seat which he had occupied on 
his first Sunday at Rugby. And then the old memories 
rushed back again, but softened and subdued, and sooth- 
ing him as he let himself be carried away by them. And 
he looked up at the great painted window' above the altar, 
and remembered how wlien a little boy he used to try not 
to look through it at the elm-trees and the rooks, before 
the painted glass came — and the subscription for the 
painted glass, and the letter he wTote home for money to 
give to it. And there, down below, was the very name of 
the boy who sat on his right hand on that first day, 
scratched rudely in the oak panelling. 

And then came the thought of all his old school- 
fellows; and form after form of boys, nobler, and braver, 
and purer than he, rose up and seemed to rebuke him. 
Could he not think of them, and what they had felt and 


404 


FINlb> 


were feeling, they who had honored and loved from the 
first the man whom he had taken years to know and love? 
Could he not think of those yet dearer to him who was 
gone, who bore his name and shared his blood, and were 
now^ without a husband or a father? Then the grief 
which he began to share with others became gentle and 
holy, and h^ rose up once more, and w'alked up the steps 
to the altar; and, while the tears flowed freely down his 
cheeks, knelt down humbly and hopefully, to lay down 
there his share of a burden which had proved itself too 
heavy for him to bear in his own strength. 

Here let us leave him : w here better could we leave him 
than at the altar before which he had first caught a 
glimpse of the glory of his birthright, and felt the draw- 
ing of the bond which links all living souls together in 
one brotherhood — at the grave beneath the altar of him 
who had opened his eyes to see that glory, and softened 
his heart till it could feel that bond? 

And let us not be hard on him, if at that moment his 
soul is fuller of the tomb and him who lies there than of 
the altar and Him of wdiom it speaks. Such stages have 
to be gone through, I believe, by all young and brave 
souls, who must wdn their way through hero-w^orship to 
the worship of him who is the King and Lord of 
heroes. For it is only through our mysterious human 
relationships, through the love and tenderness and purity 
of mothers and sisters and wives, through the strength 
and courage and wisdom of fathers and brothers and 
teachers, that we can come to the knowledge of Him in 
whom alone the love, and the tenderness, and the purity, 
and the strength, and the courage, and the wisdom of all 
these dwell forever and ever in perfect fullness. 


NOTES 


Page 55. Navvies. A “navvy” is a day laborer engaged on 
rough work, such as the digging of ditches and the like. 

57. Ushers. Under-masters in a small school for boys; term 
now obsolete in this sense. 

59. Wines. “Wine-suppers,” a^ foi'in of entertainment common 
at the Universities in Hughes’s time. 

65. The pen of Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle. In 1849, 
Thackeray contributed to Pmich, the famous English comic weekly, 
a series of letters signed “Mr. Brown.” They were illustrated by 
Richard Doyl^ the father of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. 

65. Matriculating. Entering the Universities, through examina- 
tion or otherwise. 

65. Yeoman’s work. Brave and efficient work; an allusion to 
the strength and valor of the English “yeoman,” or common sol- 
dier, of early days. 

65. Cressy and Agincourt. These, and the names that follow, 
are among the most famous in English history, and appeal strongly 
to the English schoolboy. Cressy (1346) and Agincourt (1415) 
were two great battles in which the English, chiefly because of 
their archers, were victorious over the French. Lord Willoughby, 
the “brave Lord Willoughby” of a spirited ballad, was a soldier 
of the time of Queen Elizabeth. Admiral Rodney gained two vic- 
tories, in 1780 and 1782, over the Spanish and the French respec- 
tively. John Jervis, Earl of St. Vincent, who served in the British 
Navy for over fifty years, won his greatest victory in 1797 over a 
French fleet off Cape St. Vincent. Wolfe captured Quebec in 1759. 
thus overthrowing the French power in America. Sir John Moore 
fell in action at Corunna in 1759. Nelson destroyed the French 
sea power in 1805 at the battle of Trafalgar. Wellington defeated 
Napoleon at Waterloo in 1815. The Talbots, Stanleys, and St. 
Msurs were among the aristocratic families of England. For 
the weapons mentioned, see the Century Dictionary. 

67. One to his curacy, etc. The Browns return to their various 
professions: one to his church, one to his law office, and one to his 
duties in the army. 

68. Treadmill, A machine used for the punishment of criminals. 
The prisoner was placed on the mill and made to walk (like a horse 
"n a threshing-machine) until a certain number of revolutions were 
registered on a dial. 

68. Workhouse. Poorhouse. 

68. The royal county of Berks. The county .of Berkshire is 
termed “Royal” because of its connection with the Kings of Eng- 

405 


406 


TOM BS OWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


land. It formed the central part of the Saxon kingdom of Wessex, 
and Alfred the Great was born there. At different periods royal 
palaces have been established in the county: Windsor, the present 
seat of the King, is on the eastern border. Windsor was a royal 
“ville” before William the Conqueror came over. 

68. Vale of White Horse. The valley of the River Ock, a trib- 
utary of the Thames. 

69. Racing railroad times. When Tom Broivn's f-’chool Dai/s was 
written railroads were still, comparatively speaking, a novelty. 

69. Three* pound ten. Three pounds and ten shillings. An Eng- 
lish “pound” is about .|4.86 in our mones^; a shilling, about 24 
cents. 

69. Great Exhibition. The first International Exhibition, or 
“World’s Fair,” was opened at the Crystal Palace, London, on 
IVIay 1, 1851. 

70. Mudie’s library. The earliest of the great circulating librae- 
ries. It was founded by Charles Mudie in 1842. 

70. Down. The term is usually applied in England to an ex- 
panse of high, rolling country, grassy and free of trees. Cf. 
“dune,” “sand-dune.” 

70. Parish butts. “Parish” here means a small territorial di- 
vision. “Butts” were the grounds where archery contests were 
held. It was formerly customary to hold such contests in cvoty 
parish, and a fourteenth century writer points out that “there 
ought to be butts made in every tithing, village, and hamlet.” 

70. Civil wars. The struggle between King Charles I and his 
Parliament, 1642-1649. 

70. Laid by the parson. “Laying a ghost” was an elaborate re- 
ligious ceremony whereby the parson of the parish endeavored to 
prevent a troublesome spirit from “walking.” 

70. “Duice domum,.” The Latin equivalent of “Home, Sweet 
Home.” The words are the beginning of a famous song of Win- 
chester School. 

70. Black Monday. A term applied to the first day of school. 
The original “Black Monday” was Easter Monday, April 14th, 1360, 
when an English army besieging Paris lost hundreds of men and 
horses because of the darkness, hail, and bitter cold. 

70. Back-sword play. See page 95. 

71. Ox-fences. An “ox-fence” usually consisted of a hedge with 
a heavy railing on one side and a ditch on the other. 

71. Gorse. An evergreen shrub, common in England, bearing 
yellow flowers. A spinney is a small wood with undergrowth. Poor 
Charley is the fox, which is to be hunted by the Old Berkshire 
pack of fox hounds. Fox-hunting is the greatest of English sports, 
and a “meet” arouses intense enthusiasm among all classes in the 
county. In England it is almost invariably referred to as “hunt- 
ing.” 

72. Richard Swiveller or Mr. Stiggins. Two of Dickens’s most 


NOTES 


407 


amusing characters. The former appears in The Old Curiosity Shop; 
the latter is a hypocritical parson in Pickwick Papers. Hughes is 
wrong, however, in assigning to one of them the remark about the 
vale. It was made by Sairey Gamp, that masterly creation of 
Dickens’s humor, and will be found in the forty-ninth chapter of 
Martin Chuzzlewit. 

72. Roman camp. There are a number of these camps still to 
be found in England, several of them* in a remarkably good state 
of preservation. Some authorities think that the camp mentioned 
here was a Danish fortification. At present it is called Uffington 

I Castle. Kipling’s poem, “Puck’s Song,’’ in Puck of Pook’s Hill, is 
worth reading in this general connection. 

73. Sappers and Miners. Non-commissioned officers and men in 
the Royal Engineers’ Corps of the British Army. 

73. Ordnance Map. The “Ordnance Maps” are prepared by the 
Ordnance Survey, which corresponds, in some degree, to the Geolog- 
ical Survey of the United States. 

73. Balak. See JSiumhers xxii, xxiii. 

73. The actual place. Some doubt exists as to the exact locality 
of the battle of Ashdown. It was fought in this vicinity, however, 
in 871. 

73. Asser. A Welsh monk who lived about 900. He was a friend 
of King Alfred, and wrote an account of his life. The Latin quota- 
tion from Asser’s chronicle, given in the footnote on p. 74, is trans- 
lated by Hughes in the text. 

73. The Alma. The battle of the Alma was the first engagement 
of the Crimean War (1853-6), and occurred only a few years before 
Tom liroicn’s School Days was written. 

74. Saxon white horse. The famous White Horse was cut in 
the turf on the northwest side of the hill, laying bare the white 
chalk beneath. The Horse is about 374 feet in length, covering 
something like an acre of ground. A county festival used to be 
held from time to time at which the horse was “scoured,” or cleaned 
of loose earth and weeds. Hughes’s Scouring of the White Horse 
gives a good account of the festival which took place in 1857, and 
in the book is quoted the entire programme of a “scouring” of 1776. 

75. St. George. The “Patron Saint” of England. 

75. Cromlech. A prehistoric structure, of unknown origin, sup- 
posed to have been a sepulchral monument. 

75. Wayland Smith’s cave. Weland (Wayland) was the Scandi- 
navian Vulcan. He came over into England with some Saxon 
pirates, and fell on evil days. Read Kipling’s story, Weland's 
Sword, in Puck of Pook’s Hill. Sir Walter Scott touches on the old 
legend in his novel, Kenilworth. 

75, Inigo Jones. A famous architect of the seventeenth cen- 
tury. Lord Craven chose the place mentioned in the context for 
a Jioiise when he fled from the Plague in London, in 1665. 

76. Barrows. Ancient grave mounds. 


408 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL HAYS 


I 


76. Time and the printer’s devil press. “I must hurry because 
the printer wants mj* manuscript.” 

76. Public. Public-house, or inn. 

76. Toby Philpot jug. A pitcher shaped like a jolly old man. 

77. The fiery cross. The sending of the ‘‘Fiery Cross” was a 
method of* summoning the Highland clans of Scotland for war. See 
Scott’s The Lady of the Lake, Canto III. 

77. Plantations. A ‘‘plantation” was a grove of trees. 

78. Malignant. The Cavaliers, or supporters of King Charles I, 
were called ‘‘malignants” by the Parliamentarians during the Civil 
War. 

78. Thomas Ingoldsby. The pen name of Richard Harris Bar- 
ham, who about 1837 wrote a series of amusing tales in prose and 
verse, which he called The Ingoldsby Legends. 

78. King Canute. A Danish monarch who ruled England 1014- 
1035. 

78. Moated grange. A medieval farmhouse protected by a moat. 

78. Twenty Marianas. The reference is to Tennyson’s Mariana. 

79. A Wessex man. Wessex was the land originally settled by 
the West Saxons in the central southern part of England. Under 
Alfred the Great it became the nucleus of the English kingdom. 

79. “Adscriptus glebae”: ‘‘joined to the soil” — a legal term. 

79. Chaw: ‘‘chaw-bacon,” countryman. 

79. Squire Brown, J. P. The ‘‘Squire” w'as nearly always the 
chief landowner of the district. Many of the farmers of the coun- 
tryside were his tenants, and he possessed a good deal of authority. 
The Squire was usually a ‘‘J. P.,” or .Justice of the Peace, and dis- 
charged various minor legal functions. 

79. Smock frocks. Shirt-like garments of coarse linen, worn by 
field laborers over their other clothes. 

79. Coal and clothes clubs. Clubs to supply these articles to the 
poor. 

79. Bands of mummers. Companies of actors who came round 
at Christmas and performed crude plays. One of the favorite en- 
tertainments was the play of St. George, in which was introduced 
a realistic fight with the Dragon. 

79. Mysteries. A Mystery, strictly speaking, was a religious 
play which had for its subject some great mystery such as the Birth 
or the Resurrection of Christ. 

80. Her Majesty’s lieges. The Queen’s loyal subjects. 

80. Jobbers and bribers. Hughes does not approve of the rest- 
lessness of the time, and humorously accuses the railway companies 
of a plot to stimulate travel. 

80. Assizes or Quarter Sessions. Sittings, of Courts of Justice. 

80. Yeomanry review. The ‘‘yeomanry” was a volunteer cav- 
alry force. 

80. An old don. Here means an officer of high rank in the Uni- 
versity. 


NOTES 


409 


81. The Queen sets us the example. Queen Victoria traveled 
more than her predecessors. 

82. Imperials. An “imperial” was a case for trunks, etc., fitted 
on to the roof of a traveling carriage. 

82. I cannot away with them. See I,saiah i, 13. 

82. Comme le limagon, etc. “kike the snail, carrying all his 
baggage, his furniture, even his house.” 

82. Sar' it out. Serve it out. 

82. Holus bolus. A mock Latin phrase, meaning “altogether.” 

83. Learned poet. Wordsworth. 

85. Pattens. Wooden soles mounted on light iron framework 
some three inches high, and worn in damp or muddy places. 

86. Turnpike-roads. A “turnpike” was a gate set across a road, 
where “tolls” for the repairs were collected from those Avho went 
through. The “turnpike-roads” were the best in the country. The 
word survives in certain parts of the United States in the form 
“pike.” 

86. Full-bottomed wig. A wig that came down to the shoulders. 

87. Popjoying. Amusing themseU'es — a local term. 

87. The great war. The “Napoleonic Wears’’ of 1793-1815. Dur- 
ing this period JEngland was engaged in war, at one time or another, 
with the whole of Europe and the United States. 

87. Petty Sessions. Criminal courts held by a Justice of the 
Peace. 

88. Single-sticks. A single-stick was a heavy ash stick, about 
three feet long, with a basket hilt. It was so-called because it was 
wielded with one hand, as distinguished from the “quarter-staff,” 
which was used with both. 

90. Lancet windows. High, narrow windows. 

90. “Cheap Jacks.” Peddlers. 

90. Fairings. Small gifts. 

91. Buckskins. Breeches made of dressed deer hide. 

91. Fustian. Coarse cloth. 

92. Gossip. Chum, close companion. Obsolete in this sense. 

93. Muzzling in a flour-tub. One of the prizes offered at the 
“scouring” of 1776 was “A waistcoat, 10s. 6d. value, to be given to 
the person who shall take a bullet out of a tub of flour with his 
mouth in the shortest time.” 

94. Castor. Tall silk hat. 

97. Twod. Dialect for “toad.” 

98. Shovel. “Shovel hat,” a hat with a broad brim turned up at 
the sides, worn by clergymen of the Church of England. 

98. Wosbird. A term of abuse. 

98. Sir Roger de Coverley. The lovable old Knight of Addison’s 
Spectator papers. 

99. Vizes. Devizes, a town in the neighboring county of Wilt- 
shire. 

100. Parle. A chat, a “yarn.” 


410 


TOM BLOWN ’S SCHOOL BAYS 


100. statute fair. A fair held regularly by legal appointment; 
most fairs were authorized merely by custom. ; 

100. Yeast. A novel by Charles Kingsley published in 1848. One • 
of the chapters tells about a village revel. , 

100. Gentlefolk and farmers. In England social distinctions have i 
always been strongly marked. Countrysides like the Vale pre- 
served these distinctions very clearly; the “gentlefolk” were the 
great land-owners, the “farmers” those who worked their own '■ 
farms, while below the farmers came the “working-people.” An 
occasion such as the “Veast” gave an opportunity for all classes to 
mingle freely. Hughes, lamenting anything which will tend to sep- 
arate the classes further, devotes several pages to pointing out the 
duties of the gentleman toward his less fortunate neighbor. In a 
word, he is preaching true democracy. 

101. Beer and skittles. “Skittles” is another name for ninepins. 
“Life isn’t all fun.” 

101. Palaver houses and West-end clubs. Hughes is here re- 
ferring to the wealthy young men who prepared themselves for 
Parliamentary duties by frequenting political societies and the ex- 
clusive London Clubs. John is “.John Bull,” or England; bv the 
great Parliamentary-majorities pack-saddle, Hughes means to 
suggest that a theory is not necessarily right because it is sup- 
ported by a majority of voters. 

104. Turnspit terrier. “A kind of dog of small size, long-bodied 
and short-legged, formerly used to woi-k a kind of treadmill-wheel 
by means of which a spit was turned for roasting meat,” Century 
Dictionary. 

105. Head -borough. A county police officer. 

106. Publican. Inn-keeper. 

107. Lurcher. A cross between a collie and a greyhound, for- 
merly very popular with poachers. 

107. Lissom. Supple, agile. 

108. Mute Inglorious Miltons. See Gray’s Elegy. 

110. Crichton. James Crichton, a Scotchman who died in 157.3,- 
was known as “The Admirable Crichton,” from his many accom- 
plishments. 

111. True blue Tory, A stanch Conservative; true to old-estab- 
lished forms and conditions. 

111. Close. Literally: an enclosed space. Used in England as 
referring to school playgrounds; or, sometimes, to the precincts of a 
cathedral or abbey. 

112. Mullioned windows. Windows subdivided by stone tracery. 

114. Forms. A “form,” in English schools, may mean either a 

bench or a class, and is used in both senses in this book. 

114. Withdrew to the servants’ hall. Note the implication of dif- 
ference in rank between the Squire and the village schoolmaster. 

115. Rounders. The old English game of rounders was the orig- 
inal of baseball. 


NOTES 


411 


115. High-cock-a-lorum. A game something like leap-frog. 

117. Green rides. A “ride” is a bridle-path. 

118. Private school. One that was preparatory to the great pub- 
lic schools. 

121. Primum tempos. First offense. 

125. Tally-ho. The name usually given to a fast “through” 
coach. The first Tally-ho coach was put on between London and 
Birmingham in 1823. 

125. Boots. Literally, the man who cleaned the boots at an inn. 

125. Post-chaise. A closed carriage for two or four, the driver 
(post-boy) riding on one of the horses. They were very common 
during the first half of the nineteenth century. 

125. Star. Coaches were always named; note the “Star,” and 
“Regulator” in this volume. 

126. Brown stout. A strong malt liquor. 

128. The digamma. The Squire is thinking of the more difficult 
parts of Greek grammar. The whole passage may be taken as 
roughly indicating Hughes’s own opinion that schools should con- 
cern themselves primarily with character rather than scholarship. 

129. Petersham coat. An overcoat of rough cloth. This, as well 
as several other articles of apparel, took its name from Lord 
Petersham, a dandy of the time of King George III. 

129. Guard. The “guard” of coaching days w'as the prototype of 
the modern train conductor. 

130. His late Majesty. King William IV. 

130. Pikeman. Keeper of the toll-gate — see note on turnpike 
roads, page 409. 

132. Early purl. A “stimulating mixture of beer, gin, sugar, and 
ginger . . . commonly made, before tea and coffee were used, to be 
drunk in the morning.” 

132. Huntsman's hack. His road horse, as distinguished from 
his hunter. 

132. Old pink. The scarlet coat w’orn bj' fox hunters. 

133. Bagmen. Commercial travelers — “drummers.” 

133. Potations. The word here means tea and coffee. 

134. Tap. About equivalent to “bar.” 

134. Burgesses. Citizens. 

138. Yeom’an chap. A farmer. , 

138. Cob. A strong, thickset horse. 

139. County members. Members of Parliament for the county. 

142. The School- houses The “School-house” at Rugby is the 
chief dormitory and has a prestige which the other houses do 
not possess. See Introduction, page 36. 

143. East. As noted in the Introduction, East is said to have 
been modeled after William Patrick Adam, who eventually rose 
high in English political life. 

143. Never wear caps here. In a letter horns, a “new boy,” who 
entered in 1829, describes his experience as follows: “I discovered 


412 


TOM BTOWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


that it was an unkno"’n. an unpardonable thing, for a Rugby boy 
to wear a cap; so I got a note from Mrs. Townsend (that is, such a 
thing as this — ‘Hat for Stanley. Mrs. Townsend’ — and then it will 
be put down in the bill) and got a hat with all speed.” 

143. Louts. Town-boys; not of tlie gentry. 

144. Regulation cat-skin. A slang phrase, meaning the high hat 
then worn by all Rugby boys. 

144. Seven-and-sixpence. Seven shillings and sixpence,, or $1.80 
in American money. 

144. Half-a-sov. Half a sovereign. A “sovereign,” so-called from 

the monarch’s head stamped on one side, is a gold coin of the 
value of a pound. ' 

145. Calling-over. At Rugby, as at all the Public Schools, the 
boys are required to come together at certain times and answer to 
their names. 

146. Amy Robsart. The unfortunate heroine of Scott's Kctiil- 
uorth. 

147. Tom Crib. A noted Knglish boxer who died in 184S. 

147. Windsor Castle. One of the chief residences of the rnon- 
archs of England. 

148. Praepostor. A sixth-form boy placed in authority over his 
fellows. The Winchester term was “prefect.” The theory of the 
praepostor system was that the boys should govern themselves, as 
far as possible. Dr. Arnold was a thorough believer in the princi- 
ple, and made his sixth form largely responsible for the discipline 
and good name of the school. 

148. Hard reading. “Reading” in English puWic school and 
Eniversity parlance, invariably means “studying.” 

148. Verger. Here, perhaps, “janitor.” 

149. Big fives' court. Fives is a game of handball. “Squash” 
is a modification of the original game, played with a softer ball — 
whence the name. 

149. Place for fights. Dr. Arnold did not attempt to abolish fight- 
ing; he ruled, however, that all fights must take place within the 
close. Boys caught fighting outside were promptly expelled. Under 
these regulations, fighting became far less frequent than before, 
and finally disappeared almost entirely. 

149. Big side ground. “Big side” was the name given to a special 
poition of the close set apart for the most important games — 
those played by boys who had won athletic distinction. “Little 
side” ground was used by the general multitude of players — 
sometimes called the “remnant.” “Old Big Side” is referred to 
by a former Rugby master as “that famous spot where have been 
done all the great deeds which a Rugby boy never wearies to heat- 
spoken of, and which it is his greatest pride to\tell.” 

149. Island. A mound at one side of the close. Some anti- 
quarians think it was an ancient British “barrow,” or grave mound; 
others say it wns of Roman origin, as the g’^eat Roman l?nad. T\'at- 


NOTES 


413 


ling Street, passes nearby. In the middle ages it was part of a 
land grant made to the Abbey of Pipewell. At this time, the Island 
was protected by a moat twenty feet wide, which was afterwards 
made into a fishpond by the monks. Remains of the moat existed 
at the period of the story. 

149. Island fagging. Every spring, when the Easter Speeches 
were held, and visitors came to the school, the island was trans- 
formed into a garden. The W’^ork of making the garden was as- 
signed to various fags, who had to do the task wdth such tools as 
they could lay their hands on. Turf and flowers w'ere stolen from 
the gardens of the town. See note on “Turf-cart,” page 421. 

149. White trousers. All new boys at Rugby in those days wore 
white duck trousers at their games until they had won some dis- 
tinction in athletics, when they were allowed to don flannel knicker- 
bockers. To “get his flannels” was a great event in the life of a 
Rugby boy. Today, athletic success is indicated by means of caps, 
special colored hatbands, and “blazers.” 

150. The School- house match. This description of- a football 
match is of much interest as showing an early stage in the develop- 
ment of a game that is now known all over the world. Since this 
account was written many changes have been made in the game 
at Rugby. The number of players was first reduced to twenty a 
side, then to fifteen; anddn time was evolved the “Rugby” football, 
which is now played in England, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, 
South Africa, and (for the past eight years) on the Pacific coast of 
the United States. “American Rugby,” while owing its origin to 
the English game (organized football was introduced into this 
country about 1875), has gradually come to differ wudely from its 
prototype. Thus, in the English Rugby game, while the ball is 
advanced by carrying and kicking, there are fifteen players on a 
side, “interference” is not allowed, no protective armor is used, 
and the play is faster and more open throughout. Some enthu- 
siasts have placed on the stone wall at one side of the Rugby 
Close a tablet inscribed as follows: “This stone commemorates the 
exploit of William Webb Ellis, W'ho, with a fine disregard of the 
rules of football as' played in his time, first took the ball in his 
arms and ran with it, thus originating the distinctive feature of 
the Rugby game. A. D. 1823.”) An excellent account of football as 
played at Rugby in Hughes’s time will be found in the second chap- 
ter of Football: the American Intercollegiate Game, by Parke H. Davis. 

150. Hacks. Gashes on the shins. Some of the players used to 
have beveled soles added to their boots so as to be able to cut the 
shins of an opponent — a piece of barbarity which did not long 
survive. 

150. In quarters. The boys “in quarters” protected the goals. 

150. Brooke. For the benefit of those who are fond of hunting 
for originals it may be said that “Old Brooke” was modeled on 
George Hughes, the elder brother of Thomas. 


414 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


151. Players-up. These seem to correspond to the “forwards” 
of the modern English game. 

153. Their canes. Frsepostors had the right to flog, if necessary. 

153. Shell. In Winchester the lowest form sat in an alcove popu- 
larly known as the “Shell,” and Dr. Arnold, who had been a Win- 
chester boy, took the name from that school, applying it at Rugby 
to the form intermediate between the fourth and the fifth. The 
Rugby Shell has gradually sunk in rank among the forms until 
now it occupies the lowest place. 

153. Fags. Dr. Arnold upheld the fagging system. He found it 
fully developed when he came and felt that, since the big boys were 
sure to exercise power over the little ones, it was better that they 
should do it in some recognized way. He believed, moreover, that 
the fag received training in obedience, promptness, and faithful- 
ness, which was of distinct value in his education. Fagging still 
occupies an important place in the English schools. A Rugby boy 
writes that “none of a fag’s duties are debasing and none arduous.” 

155. He of Russia. The Czar, an absolute monarch. 

156. In the consulship of Piancus. That is, “in my time.” 

158. Locking-up. All boys had to be in the house before it was 
officially locked for the night. 

159. Play strongly for touch. That is, try to kick the ball across 
the sidelines into “touch”; this is usually an advantage in the Eng- 
lish game. A ball “in touch” is out of play for the time being, 
and has to be put in play by a special method. 

159. Lombard Street. Lombard Street was a great banking cen- 
ter in London. 

161. English and French by the streams in the Pyrenees. An in- 
cident of the Peninsular War in Spain (1808-1814). 

162. Job’s war-horse. See Job xxxix, 19-25. 

165. 1^9 TTOTO? d 8 u 5 “Sweet was the food.” 

170. l-ugleman. Leader. 

171. Chesapeake and Shannon. A reference to the famous sea 

duel fought off Boston Harbor in 1812. “ 

171. The head of the house. The masters seldom interfere with 
the discipline of the houses in English schools, the older boys being 
considered responsible for good order. The head of the house was 
invariably a praepostor. 

173. Balliol scholarship. Balliol College, Oxford, bore the same 
relation to Rugby that New College did to Winchester. In both 
colleges scholarships were offered for competition to the boys of 
the respective schools. 

174. Harriers and beagles. Sporting dogs, used for hunting hares. 

174. Big-side hare-and-hounds. The most important run of the 
year. In some of the runs 13 miles have been covered in less than 
an hour and a half. 

175. Public-school man. Not a little of Dr. Arnold’s influence 
was due to the fact that he had been educated at Winchester. 


NOTES 


415 


176. Medes and Persians. “According to the law of the Medes 
and Persians, which altereth not.” Daniel vi, 8. 

178. Cocktail. Here the term means fresh beer. 

178. Buttery door. The “buttery” was a store-room for food.. 

179. Bating the tax upon beer. Reducing the excise duty. 

180. Cap on head. Masters when on duty in English schools wear 
a college cap and gown. 

185. Spite of our teeth. “In spite of all we can do.” 

186. What a pull. “What a piece of luck.” 

189. The Greek text . . . over the door. The passage is taken 
from Psalm cxxii, 1: “I was glad when they said unto me let us go 
into the house of the Lord.” 

190. The first sermon from the Doctor. Under Dr. Arnold Rugby 
chapel became the center of the religious life of the community. 
Speaking of the sermons, Dean Stanley, writing at the age of 
eighteen, said that he never heard or saw anything which gave him 
so strongly the idea of inspiration. “The prevailing note of these 
sermons is intense earnestness, — a deep sense both of the need of a 
high ideal in life and of the difficulties which attend its realization.” 

196. Wattle. Thickly woven fence. 

. 201. Nicias’ galleys. Nicias was an Athenian admiral who lived 

about 430 B. C. 

202. Twenty lines. A common punishment at English schools 
was (and still is) to require tlie delinquent to learn by heart a cer- 
tain number of lines of Latin or Greek poetry. 

203. Cornopean player. A “cornopean” was a kind of cornet. A 
southerly wind and a cloudy sky are the opening words of an old 
English hunting song. 

207. The accidence. Tliat is, the rudiments of grammar. 

207. Taking them up. Answering the questions on which the big- 
ger boys had failed. 

208. Argus. In Greek rnytholcgy, a vigilant watchman who Avas 
gifted with one hundred eyes. His story will be found in any 
classical dictionary. 

208. A form a half-year. A form a year was considered good 
progress. 

208. Verses. “Verses” were lines of Latin poetry, which had 
to be composed by the boys with strict attention to metrical cor- 
rectness. 

210. Construes. Translations. 

211. Triste lupus stabulis. “The wolf, a scourge to the flocks.” 
With this passage compare Thackeray’s amusingly exaggerated ac- 
count of the Head Master’s criticism in the second chapter of 
Pendennis. 

211. Floggings. Dr. Arnold regarded corporal punishment as 
suitable for moral offenses such as lying, drinking, and habitual 
idleness. In time, however, as he gained more influence over his 
boys through his knowledge of their individual characteristics. 


416 


TOM BBOWN’S SCHOOL HAYS 


he was able to dispense to a great extent with this form of punish- 
ment. ‘ 

214. William Tell. The Swiss patriot, who opposed the Austriam 
tyrant, Gessler, 1 

214, Just coming out. Dickens’s Pickwick Papers w^as published 
in monthly' parts during the year 1836. j 

218. Levy. A special meeting of the boys for important business.' 
The “captain” of the school was the head boy— a leader in athletics | 
and scholarship, and entrusted with a high degree of responsibility. 

218. Sent to Coventry. Coventry was a Royalist town in the 
Civil War. Parliamentary soldiers sent to occupy the town were! 
hated so keenly that the townspeople w’ould hold no communication 
wdth them. Hence the phrase, “sent to Coventry.” 

220. Study fagging. One of the duties of fags was to sweep out 
'' and generally clean up the studies of the sixth form. 

223. Out of bounds. The boys were limited to certain specifiedj 
areas of the town; all territory outside these limits was “out oO 
bounds.” ^ 

223. Penates. Precious things. The Lares and Penates were ther 

household gods of the Romans. " ^ 

224. Impounded for the Derby lottery. The Derby is the great 

racing event of the year in England and is run in the spring, Itjj 

is still the most famous of all horse races. Impounded means con:^^ 

fi seated. ® 

..*1 

224. Making books. Recording bets, the odds given, etc. i 

224. Houses of Palaver. Houses of Parliament. Plughes implies j 
that in Parliament too much talking was done and too little work.| 

226. As a hedge. “To hedge” is to safeguard oneself by bettings 
on a second possibility. 

226. Tizzy. A slang word, usually meaning sixpence. 

227. Let’s roast him. Such bullying as this w^as, of course, very 

unusual. One case, however, did occur in the time of Dr. Ingles, a 
predecessor of Arnold. I 

236. Hurdle. A “hurdle” originally meant a strong, square 

frame used as part of a movable fence. In America the word has 
come to be applied exclusively to sports, but in England the original 
meaning is retained as w^ell. ; 

237. Kossuth, Garibaldi, Mazzini. Kossuth was a Hungarian wdio 

struggled against Austrian domination. Mazzini w’as called the’ 
prophet and Garibaldi the knight-errant of the fight for Italian 
unity. ‘All three men lived about the middle of the nineteenth cen-’ 
tury. ' 

237. Ishmaelites. Outcasts. See Genesis xvi, 12. ! 

240. Ticket-of- leave men. Convicts who, for good behavior, w’erej 
allowed their freedom, on condition that they report at regular in-.i 
tervals to the authorities. i 


NOTES 


417 


241. The river Avon. Fishing is no longer one of the “lawful 
imusements” of Rugby school, and swimming is now confined to a 
j large swimming pool built in 1879 on one side of the Close. 

243. Night-lines. Lines set with baited hooks to catch fish by 
^ night. 

244. School -house song. This song is called the “Lincolnshire 
i’oacher,” and goes to a swinging tune. 

^ 245. Lotus-eaters of the “ephemerae.'’ See Tennyson’s poem, 

* The LotOH-eaters. “Ephemerae” are short-lived insects. 

245. The gentle craft. A phrase applied to fishing since the 
time of Izaak Walton, who published, in 1653, his famous book, 

6 The Coniftleat Angler; or. The Contemplative MatTs Recreation. 

" 246. Dead point. Sporting term: a “pointer” is a dog which 

stops short and “points” when it scents a bird. 

>t 247. Give him a black. A “black” was a nickname. 

247. Bob. Slang for shilling. 

^ 259. Marryat’s novels. Frederick Marryat was a British naval 

it officer arid wrote many popular novels of the sea. 

263. Can you sing? See Tom’s experience as a new boy, page 145. 
e 269. What doest thou here, Elijah? See 1 Kings xix. 

269. Bowed the knee to Baal. See 1 Kings xix, 18. 
t 278. Midland Counties. The great manufacturing districts of 
t England, which developed enormously during the Napoleonic Wars, 
. and suffered correspondingly when their trade declined afterwards. 

278. County yeomanry. See note on Yeomanry review, page 408. 

278. Utopian ideas. Ideas which are too perfect to be carried 
^ out. The word “utopian” is formed from the name of a book. 

Utopia, written by Sir Thomas More in 1516, which pictured an 
ideal nation. 

’ 279. Fat living or stall. A “fat living” is a well paid position in 

the Church of England; a “stall” is an office of high rank in a 
cathedral. 

279. Chartism. About 1838 a political party appeared in England 
‘ which embodied a new political scheme, or platform, in what was 

called “The People’s Charter.” The Chartists made five principal 
I demands: universal suffrage, annual Parliaments, payment of mem- 
i bers of Parliament, vote by ballot, and the creation of electoral dis- 
tricts. These proposals were reasonable enough, and several of 
them have since been incorporated into English law. But the meth- 
ods of the Chartists were violent, and their activities were much 
feared. At one time 100,000 special constables were sworn in to 
check a proposed movement of the Chartists on the city of London. 

281. Freethinking Club. A “Freethinker” was a man who re- 
fused to conform his religious views to the authority of any church. 

282. Lord* Grey and the Reform Bill. Lord Grey was the leader 
of the fight for the great Reform Bill of 1832, which immensely 
increased the number of electoral districts throughout England. 

282. Naaman. See II Kings v. 


418 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


286. Gradus ad Parnassum. A Latin grammar well-known to 
generations of English schoolboys. 

290. The Russian engineers at Sebastopol. The defense of 
Sebastopol, during the Crimean War, was the greatest achievement 
of the Russian military engineers. Tlie town fell after a siege of 
eleven months. 

291. Moss-troopers. The “moss-troopers” were freebooters who 
used to range the border of England and Scotland as late as the 
eighteenth century, raiding lonely farmhouses and carrying off 
cattle. When pursued, they took refuge in the “mosses,” or^ 
swamps. 

291. Bewick. Thomas Bewick was the author of The History of 
British Birds (1797). 

295. Kestrel’s nest. A kestrel is a species of hawk, and builds 
only on high trees. 

295. Fidus Achates. “Faithful Achates” was the friend of Aeneas 
in the Aeneid of Virgil. 

296. Bottling the swipes. Bottled beer was a special luxury, as 
beer was usually served from the cask. Tom seems to have had 
a particularly good recipe for treating the somewhat flat beverage 
supplied by the school. 

296. Aganippe. A fountain near Mount Helicon, in Boeotia, 
Greece. The name w'as given by Rugby boys to a swimming-pool 
in the Avon river, used by the upper classes of the school. 

297. William of Wykeham. See Introduction, page 32ff. 

299. False quantities or concords. Wrong meter or bad gram- 
mar. 

300. Experto crede. “Believe one who has tried it.” 

305. Pecking'- bag. A small bag filled wuth stones to throw at 
birds. 

308. Like a lamplighter. Before the days of electricity all street 
lamps had to be lighted by hand, and the lamplighter with his lad- 
der was a familiar figure. 

309. Quickset. A hedge of growing plants such as haw’thorn or 
box. 

311. [ made forty. See note on Cricket, page 420, 

317. “Surgebat Macnevisius.” The lines are from a schoolboy'- 
poem in the Eton school paper, and may be roughly translated as 
follow's: 

Then up rose Macnevisius 
And cried without a falter: 

“I’ll fight for you right willingly 
Against this brute Macwalterl” 

317. Bell’s Life. A London sporting paper. 

318. Russians. The Crimean War was still fresh in the minds uf 

Englishmen. , 

318. Border-ruffians. See note on “moss-troopers,” above. 


NOTES 


419 


319. Whole school-day. On Wednesdays and Fridays, and some- 
times on Mondays, afternoon lessons were held. 

319. Nem. con. “Nemine contradicente.” A Parliamentary term 
meaning- “unanimously.” Literally, “No one speaking to the con- 
trary.” 

321. Fatal two lines. Tney occur in Homer’s JUad. Helen 
is mourning over the dead Hector, and contrasts his kindness and 
courtesy with the cruel treatment she 'has received from others: 
“But thou didst take my part with kindly admonitions, and restrain 
their tongues with gentle w'ords.” 

328. We’ve got the last. We’ve got the endurance — w^e can “stick 
it out.” 

336. The twenty. A class intermediate between the fifth and 
sixth forms. 

337. Marylebone match. The match with the Marylebone Cricket 
Club of London, the great match of the year. 

339. The burial service. The beautiful and impressive Church of 
England Service for the Burial of the Dead. The Protestant Epis- 
copal Church of America uses the same Service, w^hich may be 
found in the Prayer Book. 

341. Pie-match. A match at the close of which the winners were 
treated to a “feed” by the losers. 

341. The twenty-two. A sort of second cricket team. The first, 
or school team, is called “The Eleven.” 

344. Don’t gammon. “Don’t talk nonsense.” The word has an 
interesting history; see Murray’s Neio English Dictionary. 

346. In this thing. See II Kings 18. 

349. The living creatures and the wheels in Ezekiel. See Ezekiel i. 

351. The vision is for an appointed time. See llahakkuk ii, 3. 

352. Combes. A “combe” is a rounded valley, enclosed on all 
sides but one by steep hills. 

352. Cairngorm. A kind of quartz, colored a smoky yellow% 
found in the Cairngorm Mountains of Scotland. 

352. Tors. A “tor” is a steep hill rising out of a moor; the 
word is especially applied to the rugged granite mounds of Dart- 
moor in Devon. 

356. Mom us. The nickname of one of the masters. Momus, in 
Greek mythology, was “a god personifying censure and mockery.” 

357. Locus poenitentiae. “Place of repentance.” 

359. Churchwarden windows. Ugly, or ill-placed, windows; the 
term is used contemptuously, as referring to the damage done to 
church architecture at the hands of illiterate churchwardens. 

359. You Goth! The Goths were barbarians who inVaded the 
Roman Empire in the fifth century, and destroyed many ancient 
monuments. Tom, in East’s opinion, is no better than a Goth, 
because of his attack on the time-honored institution of vulgus- 
books. 


420 


TOM BEOWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


y 


359. Sheridan Knowles. A second-rate English playwright who 
lived 1784-1862. 

360. Came out of Egypt. Tom’s conversion is so recent that he 
has no right to criticize other sinners. The phrase is reminiscent 
of the Bible story of the escape of the Israelites from their Egyp- 
tian bondage. See Exodus xiii, xiv. 

361. Don't hit under the line. According to schoolboy ideas of 
fair play, to hit “below the belt’’ was an unpardonable sin in 
fighting. 

363. Most wonderful little fellow. The Rugby career of Bean 
Stanley of Westminster furnished Hughes with material for the 
character of Arthur. Stanley left behind him a remarkable reputa- 
tion for character and scholarship, which must have been well 
known to Hughes, who entered just before his departure. Stan- 
ley’s letters written at Rugby give an interesting picture of school 
life from a point of view which differs from that of Tom Brown. 

367. Never been confirmed. That is, admitted to full member- 
ship in the Church. Rugby was a Church of England school, and 
boys w^ere confirmed according to the rites of that Church when 
they had reached the proper age. 

369. Uncovenanted mercies. Such mercies as God may grant to 
the heathen and those outside the church. 

373. The Crimea and distant India. The Crimean War and the 
Indian Mutiny followed each other within a year, and many Rugby 
boys fought in both (1853-6 and 1857). 

374. Our own Rugby poet. Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861), 
author of a number of well-known poems. He was a warm friend 
of Matthew Arnold, who wrote in his memory the beautiful elegy, 
Thyrsis. 

375. Exhibitions. Money allowances made to students, under 
certain conditions, at the English Universities. 

376. Lords’ ground. The grounds of the Marylebone Cricket 
Club of London, then, and still, the most famous cricket club in 
the world. 

376. The Lakes. The beautiful Lake District is a mountainous 
area in the northwest of England. Here Doctor Arnold had 'his 
summer home, “Fox Howe.’’ 

376. The Three Trees. These trees are no longer in existence. 

376. The ground was . . . chosen. The Close at Rugby consists 
of about seventeen acres of beautiful turf. 

378. The match has begun. This spirited description of the 
match can be enjoyed even if the technical terms are confusing. 
As cricket is unknown to most American boys, the main features 
of the game may be outlined here. Cricket is played between two 
teams of eleven men each. The ground consists of a large expanse 
of close-cut turf; the best grounds in England being as well kept 
as a good grass tennis court.* The “pitch,” or “crease,” is measured 
out on the smooti^est portion of the ground and the “wickets” are 


NOTES 


421 


set up twenty-two yards apart. Each wicket is composed of three 
ash sticks, called “stumps,” which are stuck upright in the earth 
about two inches apart, and at right angles to the length of the 
crease. Across the top of the wickets are placed two small pieces 
of wood known as “bails.” The “batsman” takes his position in 
front of one of the wickets, and the “bowler” of the opposing 
“eleven” tries to knock down his wicket by bowling a ball from 
the other end of the crease. The batsman, of course, endeavors to 
hit the ball, in order to make runs. A run is scored when the 
batsman is able to cross to the farther, wicket. In playing the 
ball, he tries to “place” it where the fielders will have most diffi- 
culty in getting it, and a skillful player will place his “strokes” 
with remarkable accuracy. The team which goes “to bat” begins 
w'ith one man at each wicket. The bowler of the opposing tea n 
places nine of his men about the field, while the tenth is “wicket- 
keep” at the end opposite to the bowler. Five balls are bowled, 
and then the wicket-keep changes over, and five balls are bowled 
from the other end. Each group of five is called an “over.” This 
continues until ten batsmen are retired, when the “innings” is 
over and the other side “goes in.” The game is won by the team 
making the most runs. 

It is impossible to make any comparison between cricket and 
baseball, as the games differ in every respect except for the single 
fact that each is played with a bat and ball — and e\en these are 
absolutely dissimilar. 

384. It’s an institution. Cricket is to English boys what baseball 
is to young Americans. Records of matches played are found as far 
back as 1600. 

385. Turf-cart. When the “island garden” was made, a number 
of fags were harnessed to a small cart and made to cut and haul 
turf to put round the garden. 

390. King’s College Chapel,. King’s College is one of the group 
of Colleges which make up Cambridge University. 

390. Nestor. The oldest of the Greek leaders at the siege of 
Troy. 

395. Thomas Carlyle himself. Carlyle, in 1840, gave a series of 
lectures in London on Heroes and Hero-Worship. They were after- 
wards published in book form and had a great influence on English 
thought. 

397. Shingle. Beach composed of large pebbles. 

398. Corn -laws. The “corn -laws” were measures designed to 
protect the English farmer against outside competition. They pro- 
vided that a duty should be levied on all grain (called “corn” in 
England) entering the country. Through the efforts of the Anti- 
Corn-Law League, founded in 1838, this duty w'as gradually re- 
pealed until finally all grain was admitted free. 

398. The Goodwood. A famous race meet, held every year in the 

south of England. 


422 


TOM BliOWN’S SCHOOL BAYS 


401. The gadfly. In the old Greek myth, lo, beloved of Jove, 
was tormented by a gadfly sent by the wrathful Juno. 

404. Those yet dearer to him. Matthew Arnold wrote a noble 
triDute to his father, which appeared in the same year that Tom 
Jiioirn's iicUool Doits was published. The following lines may be 
quoted: 

O strong soul, by what shore 
Tarriest thou now? For that force. 

Surely, has not been left vain! 

Somewhere, surely, afar. 

In the sounding labor-house vast 
Of being, is practiced that strength, 

Zealous, beneficent, firm! 


APPENDIX 


(Adapted, and enlarged, from the Manual for the Study of English 
Classics, by George L, Marsh) 

HELPS TO STUDY 
The Author and His Work 

When did Hughes go to Rugby (p. 13) ? How long was he 
there? What was his school record? His further education, and 
his profession? 

Who was “the Master “ at Rugby at this time (pp. 20 ff.) ? 
What literary associations has he? When did he die? At what 
age? With what accomplishment to his credit? 

To w'hat extent does the author portray himself in the person 
of Tom Brown (pp. 14, 15) ? Note suggestions as to the originals 
of various other characters in the story (pp. 411, 413, 420). 

What social work did Hughes do (pp. 15, 16)? With what 
{)rominent personages did it bring him into contact? Note reflec- 
tions of his sociological zeal in Tom Brown’s School Days. 

What were Hughes’ relations to the United States (p. 17), and 
especially to a famous American author? 

What were his principal works (p. 19) ? 

English Public Schools 

The teacher should observe the suggestions of the Preface re- 
garding the books listed on pages 49, 50. 

Wherein does the English use of the term “public school” in 
this book differ from our American use of the term (p. 31) ? The 
student should work out the topic in detail. 

What did Dr. Arnold consider the main purpose of a school (p. 
27)? Is this purpose served in the cases of the main characters 
of the book? 

Compare the British system as to terms, classes, recitations, etc. 

^ 423 

i 

■r . ' 


424 


APPENDIX 


(jip. 35-6), with our own. Do you see any advantages in the 
British system (e. g., in the matter of promotion) ? 

Note the relation of the system of self-government in English 
schools (p. 33) to various plans (“honor system,” “student coun- 
cils,” etc.) that are now often tried in American institutions. 
What would you expect to be the effect of such a system in the 
<levelopment of citizens of a democracy? 

What was fagging? How defended (pp. 23-4) ? Considering all 
the examples of it in this book, how far do you believe it to liave 
been justified? Does it exist now? Does anything at all similar 
exist in American schools? 

What prominent differences are there between the British and 
the American systems of school athletics (pp. 38-9) ? Which is the 
better system for symmetrical development of the boys? 

Tom Brown ’s School Days 

Wiieii was this book published (p. 42) ? With what success? In 
wliat respect was it original? Note the very large number of suc- 
cessors it has had. 

Did the author intend, when this book was written, to take Tom 
Brown through Oxford also (see p. 83) ? Students who have read 
Tom Brown at Oxford may rapidly summarize it (or the teacher 
may do so) and' compare it in interest with Tom Brown’s School 
Days. 

Do you find the first part of the book interesting? Is it a mis- 
take to deal so extensively with Tom and his family before he gets 
to Kugby? What is accomplished in this part of the book? llow 
much of the first four chapters do you consider necessary ? How 
much desirable? 

Is there an intrinsic reason for dividing the book into two i)art:( 
(p. 257)? What could you entitle the parts to distinguish them ? 

Examine the quotations at the beginnings of chapters. From 
what authors are they taken ? Are they always appropriate to the 
subject matter? Do the chapters generally have unity in accord- 
ance with their titles and the initial quotations? 

Do 3 ^ou agree as to the “wholesome point of view” (p. 45) of 
the whole story? For example, what do you think of the criticism 
that has been made of Tom’s fight with “Slogger” Williams ( p. 


APPENDIX 


425 


48) f Or does the author, even by implication, anticipate our pres- 
ent view as to drinking among school boys? 

Would you agree that Hughes “disarms criticism” of his 
preaching attitude (pp. 44, 58) by frankly admitting his purj>ose? 
His digressions, which are mostly of a preaching character, should 
be considered, each by itself, in relation to its context. For exam- 
ple, is the latter part of Chapter II (i)p. 101-3) out of tone in a 
boys’ book? Interesting to boys? 

Hughes’ use of the colloquial, confidential style (p. 44) may 
be compared with Thackeray’s. 

Does the colloquial style justify such errors as the use of plural 
pronouns in reference to indefinite antecedents (as on pp. 85, 110, 
etc.) in the author’s own text — not conversation? 

What does the beginning of Chapter VIII of Part II indicate as 
to the manner of composition (p. 373) ? 

Squire Brown (pp. 79 tf.) may be compared, as an English coun- 
try gentleman, with Sir Roger de Coverley and with Squire Brace- 
bridge (Lake ed. of The Sicetch Book, “Bracebridge Hall”). 
Some rather marked differences may be noted. Are they due 
mainly to the later time Hughes deals with, or — in part at least — 
to the different character and spirit of the author? 

Wherein does the football of Tom Brown’s day (pp. 154 ff.) 
differ from that of the present day^ — at Rugby; in America? 

Observe differences in curriculum and methods (as indicated 
pp. 208 ff.) between Rugby in Tom Bi-o\vn’s day and our schools 
of today. 

Do you find the talk of the boys always natural (e. g., pp. 358- 
9) ? Is the slang at all difficult? Does it seem any better or worse 
than our school slang? 


426 


APPENDIX 


THEME SUBJECTS 

1. The life and work of Hughes (pp. 13-20). 

2. An imaginary conversation between Hughes and Lowell (pp. 
17-19) on some definite topic in which both would naturally be 
interested. 

3. Dr. Arnold’s main principles in education (pp. 21-31). 

4. A paraphrase (and explanation so far as necessary) of 
Matthew Arnold’s “Eugby Chapel.” 

5 . A clear and simple explanation of the main features of the 
English public school system in Tom Browm’s day (pp. 31 ff., 
and illustrative material throughout the book). 

6. The fagging system — either explanation or discussion, or 
both. 

7. An argument on the British and the American athletic 
' systems (pp. 38-9). 

8. An argument on Hughes’s views of fighting (pp. 318 ff.). 

9. A comparison of football in Tom Brown’s day at Kugby 
and in an American school today. 

10. An attempt to explain cricket to the American understand- 
ing. 

11. ('haracter sketches of ”the Doctor” (merely as portrayed 
in this book, without reference to other things you know about 
Dr. Arnold), Tom Brown, East, Arthur, Flashman, Martin — any 
other persons portrayed with sufficient definiteness and individu- 
ality. 

12. Narrative themes on important divisions of the story, sucii 
as ; 

Tom in a private school (pp. 118-24). 

Going up to Eugby (pp. 125 ff.). 

Tom and East (a rapid summary of their relations*). 

Tom and Arthur (ditto). 

Tom and Flashman "(ditto) . 

The roasting of Tom (pp. 225 ff). 

Fishing in the Avon (pp. 241 ff.). 

Brown versus Williams (pp. 322 ff.). 

13. A summary (or development) of one of the best ” sermons” 
in tlie book. 


APPENDIX 


42 


SELECTIONS FOR CLASS READING 

1. The Vale of White Horse (pp. 71-76). 

' 2 . Tom's early friends (pp. 84-S8). 

3. A back-sword contest (pp. 94-99). 

4. The- Squire’s democracy (pp. 111-14). 

;■). Tom at his first school (pp. 119-24). 

6. By coach to Rugby (pp. 129-34). 

7. The football game (pp. 155-64— witli omissions i 
able). 

8. Old Brooke’s speech (pp. 172-75). 

9. , The blanket-tossing .(pp. 180-84). 

10. The Doctor’s sermon (pp. 190-92). 

11. Hare and hounds (pp. 195-200). 

12. Roasting a fag (pp. 225-29). 

13. The last of Flashman (pp. 232-36). 

14. Tom’s fishing scraj)e (pj). 245=49). 

15. Arthur’s first night at Rugby (pp. 264-68). , 

16. A scientist out of date (pp. 289-92). 

17. Hughes’s views on fighting (pp. 317-18, 334-5 ). 

18. Why Tom came to Rugby (pp. 345-6). 

19. Arthur’s illness (pp. 348-51). 

20. Tom’s talk with the master (pp. 384-86, 390-93). 

21. Tom hears of the Doctor ’s death (pp. 397-404). 


f desi 


SUGGESTIONS FOR DRAMATIZATION 


(With acknowledgments to Simons and Orr’s Dramatization, 
Scottj Foresman and Company, 1913) 

It has been the experience of many teachers that ^^dramatization 
of the literature studied is one of the most successful of all devices 
for vitalizing the work of the English class.” Nor is dramatization 
difficult if the task is approached with an understanding of the 
book in hand, and of the sort of scenes that can be presented with 
some effectiveness by young students. 

In dramatizations from a novel it will usually be found that the 
author provides plenty of conversation, which can be and should be 
token over with little, if any, change. A novel of any length, how- 
(‘ver, presents so many interesting, even highly dramatic dialogues 
tliat the .choice of the best ones for presentation may be puzzling. 

It is important that the scene or group of scenes chosen shall 
liave a certain clearness and completeness and unity by itself, with- 
out depending too much on the rest of the story; that the material 
selected shall have real dramatic quality — shall present interesting 
action, not mere tali’; and that it shall not be too difficult for 
amateur actors without elaborate costumes or stage settings. 

'IV) illustrate the last point it may be noted that any scenes in 
which fighting or other violent action occurs — tempting though they 
may be to the youthful mind — cannot be undertaken because they 
Avould almost invariably lead to ” horse-play. ” Nor can scenes 
involving much movement from place to place be undertaken; only 
scenes of considerable talk and action Avith a A’ery limited space are 
l)raeticable. 

Scenes and incidents should be left unchanged if possible; but 
sometimes it is desirable to put in one scene related ev'ents and con- 
versations that can just as Avell occur at one time and place, though 
they are not so represented in the story. For example, in Simons 
and Orr’s dramatization from Treasure Island, a conference betAveen 
Doctor LiA’esey and Jim HaAvkins, Avhich in the story takes place 

42S 


AI’PKXDIX 


429 


outside the blockhouse, is put inside in order to prevent a change of 
setting. And in the dramatization from Henry Esmond, certain 
events which in the novel are spread over three days are put in a 
single scene. Teachers and students Avho have had their attention 
called to the way Shakspere treated his sources in writing his plays 
{Machetli, for example) will readily appreciate the frequent need 
of condensation and concentration. 

Very long speeches should usually be avoided, but as they do not 
often occur in novels not much difficulty on this score is to ’be ex- 
pected. Even moderately long speeches, however, may sometimes 
be interrupted effectively by remarks that some character might 
naturally make, though it is usually best to stick to one’s text.” 

i^tage directions — descriptions of the scene or the persons, an<t 
statements of action accompanying the speeches — may often l)e 
taken directly from the book in hand, but sometimes must be su|>- 
plied. The very full directions given by recent playwrights (in 
(. ontrast with the meager directions in Shakspere ’s plays) may be 
examined to advantage. See, for example, plays by Ibsen, Bernard 
Shaw, Sir James M. Barrie, and others. Usually, however, little is 
to be gained by elaborate directions. 

Some of the scenes in Tom Brown's School Days that obviously 
lend themselves to dramatization are that in which Old Brooke’s 
speech occurs (pp. 172-75, and before and after), some of the scenes 
with Flashman, some of the scenes with Arthur, and perhaps Tom ’s 
talk with the Master (pp. 384 ff.) — this last not so much for real 
dramatic quality as for character portrayal. 


CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE 


111 the following parallel columns are given the most impor- 
tant dates in the history of English and American literature 
from a few years before the birth of Thomas Hughes down to 
1901, five years after his death. Special care has been taken 
to include the classics commonly read in high schools, so that 
tlie historical background of any given classic will be apparent 
from the table. 

AMERICAN 

1815 Freneau : Poems. 


1817 Bryant : Thanatopsis. 


1819 Drake: The American 

Flag. 

1820 Irving: The Sketch Book. 
The Missouri Compromise. 

1821 Cooper: The Spy. 

* Bryant : Poems. 

1822 Irving: Bracebridge Hall. 

1823 Payne: Home, Sweet 

U ome. 

Cooper : The Pilot. 

1824 Irving: Tales of a Trav- 

eler. 

1825 Webster : The Bunker 

Hill Monument. ' 

1826 'Cooper : The Last of the 

Mohicans. 

1827 Poe: Tamerlane and 

Other Poems. 


1831 Poe : Poems. 

1832 Irving : The Alhambra. 

S. F. Smith : America. 

1833 Poe: MS. Found in a 

Bottle. 

430 


• ENGLISH 

1815 The Battle of Waterloo. 

1816 Byron : The Prisoner of 

Chillon; Childe Harold, 

III. 

Coleridge : Chmstabel. 

1817 Keats : Poems (first col- 

lection). 

1818 Byron: Childe Harold, 

IV. 

1819 Scott : Ivanhoe. 

1820 Keats : Poems. 

Shelley : Prometheus Un- 

" bound. 

1821 Shelley: Adonais. 

De Quincey : Confessions 
of an Opium Eater. 

1823 Scott : Quentin Durward. 

Lamb : Essays of Elia. 

1824 Landor : Imaginary Con- 

versations. 

1825 Macaulay : Essay on Mil- 

ton. 


1827 .K. and C. Tennyson: 

Poems by Two Broth- 
ers. 

1828 Carlyle: Essay on Burns. 
1830 Tennyson : Poems Chiefly 

Lyrical. 

1832 Death of Scott; The Re- 

form Bill. 

1833 Carlyle: Sartor Resartus. 
Tennyson : Poems. 
Browning: Pauline. 


APPENDIX 


431 


AMERICAN 


1 835 

Drake: The CulpHt Fay, 
etc. 

1836 

Holmes: Poems. 

Emerson : Nature. 

1837 

Emerson : The American 
Scholar. 

Hawthorne : Twice-Told 

Tales, first series. 
Whittier : Poems. 

1839 

Poe : Tales of the Grotes- 


que and Arabesque. 


Longfellow : Voices of the 
Night. 

1840. 

Dana : Two Years Before 
the Mast. 

1841 

Emerson : Essays, first 
series. 

Longfellow : Ballads and 
Other Poems. 

1842 

Hawthorne : Twice-Told 

Tales, second series. 

1843 

Poe : The Gold-Bug. 

Prescott : Conquest of 

Mexico. 

1844 

Emerson : Essays, second 
series.^ 

Lowell : Poems. 

1845 

Poe : The Raven and 

Other Poems. 

1846 

Hawthorne: Mosses from 


an Old Manse. 


1846-48 War with Mexico. 

1847 Emerson : Poems. 

liongfellow : Evangeline. 
I’arkman : The Oregon 

Trail. 

1 848 Lowell : Vision of Sir 

Launfal. 

1849 Irving: Oliver Goldsmith. 


1850 Emerson: Representative 
Men. 

Hawthorne : The Scarlet 
Letter. 


ENGLISH 

1835 Browning : Paracelsus. 

1830 Dickens : Pickteick Pa- 
pers. 

1837 Victoria became Queen. 

De Quincey : Revolt of 
the Tartars. 

Carlyle: The French 
Revolution. 


1840 Macaulay: Essay on 

Clive. 

1841 Browning : Pippa Passes. 
Macaulay : Essay on War- 
ren Hastings. 

1842 Macaulay : Lays of An- 

cient Rome. 

Browning : DrarAatic 
Lyrics. 

1 843 Dickens : A Christmas 

Carol. 

Macaulay : Essay on Ad- 
dison. 

Ruskin : Modem Painters, 
Vol. I. 

1844 E. B. Browning: Poems. 

1 845 Browning : Dramatic Ro- 

mances and Lyrics. 

1846 Dickens: The Cricket on 

the Hearth. 


1847 De Quincey : Joan of Arc. 
Tennyson : The Princess. 
Thackeray : Vanity Fair 
C. Bronte : Jane Eyre. 

1848 Macaulay: History of 

England, I, II. 

1849 De Quincey : The English 

Mail Coach. 

M. Arnold : The Strayed 
Reveller, etc. 

1850 Tennyson: TnMemoriam. 
Dickens : David Copper 

field. 


432 


APPENDIX 


AMERICAN 

1851 Hawthorne; J'he House 

of the Seven Gables. 
Parkman : The Conspir- 
acy of Pontiac. 

1852 Mrs. Stowe : Uncle Tom’s 

Cabin. 


1854 Thoreau ; Walden. 

1855 Longfellow : Hiawatha . 
Whitman : Leaves of 

Grass. 

1856 Motley : Rise of the Dutch 

Republic. 

Curtis : Prue and I. 


1858 Longfellow: Courtship of 
Miles Standish. 

Holmes : Autocrat of the 
Breakfast Table. 


1861-65 The Civil War. 


1862-60 Lowell : Itiylow Pa- 
pers, II. 

1863 Longfellow : Tales of a 
Wayside Inn. 


1865 Whitman : Drum Taps. 
Whittie**: Stiow-Bound. 


ENGLISH 

1851 Thackeray : Lectures on 

English Humorists. 

G. Meredith : Poems. 

1852 Thackeray : Henry Es- 

mond. 

1853 M. Arnold: Poems 

(“Sohrab and Rustum,” 
etc.) . 

Mrs. Gaskell : Cranford. 


1855 R. Browning: Men and 

Women. 

Tennyson : Maud. 

1856 Macaulay : E s s ay s on 

Johnson and Goldsmith. 
Mrs. Browning : Aurora 
Leigh. 

1857 Hughes : Tom Brown’s 

School Days. 


1859 Tennyson : Idylls of the 

King. 

Dickens ; A Tale of Two 
Cities. 

G. Eliot ; Adam Bede. 
Meredith : O r deal of 

Richard Feverel. 

Darwin : The Origin of 
Species. 

1860 G. Eliot: The Mill on 

the Floss. 

1861 G. Eliot : Silas M :rner. 
Reade : The Cloister and 

the Hearth. 

Palgrave: The Golden 

Treasury. 

1862 Meredith : Modern Love, 

etc. 

1863 G. Eliot; Romola. 

1834 Browning: Dramatis Per- 
sona’. 

Swinburne: Atalanta in 
Calydon. 

1865 Ruskin: Sesame and 
Lilies. 

Ruskin : A Grown of Wild 
Olive. 


1866 


1866 


APPENDIX 


4:58 


AMEUICAN 

1868 Hale: The Man Without' 
a Country, etc. 


1870 Bret Harte : The Luck 

of Roaring Camp, etc. 

1871 Howells : Their Wedding 

Journey. 


1873 

Aldrich : 
etc. 

Marjorie Daw, 

1876 

Mark Twain : Tom Sato- 
yei\ 

1877 

Lanier : 

Poems. 

,1870 

Cable : 

Old Creole Days. 


Stockton 

: Rudder Grange. 

1881 

Whittier 

: The King’s 


Missive. 


1886 H. Jacksou ; Sonnets and 

Lyrics. 

1887 M. E. Wilkins : A Humble 

Romance, etc. 

1888 Whitman: November 

Boughs. 


1890 E. Dickinson : Poems, 

first series. 

1891 Whitman : Goodbye, My 

Fancy. 


1898 War with Spain. 


ENUI^ISII 


1868 

Browning: The Ring and 
the Book. 

1868-70 Morris: The Earthly 
Paradise. 

ISOO . 

• 'I'ennyson. T h e Hoi y 
Grail, etc. 

1870 

D. (}. Kossetti : J’oons. 

1871 

Swinburne : Sotigs Before 
Sunrise. 

1872 

Tennyson : Gareth and 
Lynette, etc. 

1873 

Arnold : Literature and 
Dogma. 

1876 

Morris : Sigurd the Vol- 
sung. 

1878 

Stevenson : An Inland 

Voyage. 

1879 

Stevemson : Travels with 
a Donkey. 

Meredith : The Egoi.st. 

1881 

D. (}. Rossetti : Ballad.'< 
and Sonnets. 

1882 

Stevenson : New Arabian 
Nights. 

1883 

Stevenson : Treasure Is- 
land. 

1886 

Stevenson : Kidnapped. 

1887 

Stevenson : The Merry 

Men (“M a r k h e i m,” 
etc.). 

1888 

Kipling: Plain Tales 
from the Hills. 
Barrie: Auld Licit t 

Idylls. 

1889 

Browning: Asolando. 

1891 

Kipling : Life’s Handi- 

cap. 

1892 

Tennyson died. 

1893 

Conington : Translation 

of .Xeneid published. 
Barrie: Two of Them. 

1901 

Queen Victoria died. 




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